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I crossed my arms and wanted to melt into the seat with embarrassment, feeling dumb.
Dumb, naive, and again, unable to keep up.
Sam glanced at me, then returned his attention to the road. “I didn’t see him on the way in or out. I’ve been keeping my eye out.”
“What if he follows us?” I asked in a small voice.
Sam shrugged. “Then he follows us. We’ll figure it out.”
Sam was… he looked socoolwith one arm draped over the wheel like that, eyes pointed forward determinedly. In a situation full of uncertainty, he was just…okaywith being uncertain.
He didn’t need to be in control. In fact, he seemed tothriveon the not-knowing.
Sam was the opposite of Grayson in that way.
He was the opposite of me.
“Music?” Sam reminded me.
“Oh! Right…” I said, peering down at the dark UI.
Then I froze. All of a sudden, every type of music I could think of seemed stupid and juvenile. Sam mentioned he was in the music industry; he would definitely judge me on taste.
I wanted him to think I was unique and interesting, so I scrambled through my mental music library for something that would communicate that. This was a test; there were a thousand ways to mess it up. Lizzo? Hamilton Soundtrack? Lindsey Stirling? Though, I was still detoxing from the relationship with Grayson. Every song I pulled out of the catacombs of my memory had him attached to it.
There was nothing that was just mine anymore; all of my interests had somehow merged with his.
“What’s your favorite band?” Sam probed.
“Uh…” I mumbled nervously.
But it wasn’t an anxious nervous. It was a refreshing, giddy nervous.
I felt alive.
“What’s the last thing you listened to?” Sam probed again, the hint of a smile on his face.
He was so perceptive, he could probably read all the thoughts in my thought bubble without even having to look over.
“Taylor Swift,” I admitted.
I watched the profile of Sam’s face shift into a playful grin.
Oh no. That was uncool. He was going to think I was a crazy Swiftie, or too—
“Which album? Midnights?”
I raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Well, if it’s not that one, is it Reputation? Red?”
A fluttering sensation washed over me. “You know Taylor Swift? But… aren’t you into rap and stuff?”
“I know music,” Sam said. “Obviously I’ve heard Taylor Swift.”
I waited for him to say all the things I was used to hearing from men—that she was overhyped and overrated. That she didn’t deserve the level of fame she’d attained. That she was just lucky—that they couldn’t stand hearing her music in every public space.
But instead, Sam said, “She’s an incredible poet.”
