“That’s child endangerment,” he says, coughing. “Torture.”
“You are so soft,” I say. I set the jerky in my lap and take another piece. “This is barely spicy.”
“It burned my tastebuds off.” He shifts in his seat, trying and failing to find a better fit.
“Soft,” I say, taking another bite. “Can you at least handle Flaming Hots?”
“I don’t know. Are they hotter than mild salsa?”
I laugh. “What? Mild salsa doesn’t have any spice.”
“It does to me.” He riffles through the bag. “What is this? Did you get anything that isn’t punishment for your mouth?”
“Oh stop, you big baby. Eat a Mars bar.”
“I don’t like chocolate.”
My eyes fly to his. “You drank chocolate milk!”
He opens the wrapper and takes a bite with a wolfish grin that makes my stomach flip. “I’m messing with you. I like chocolate.”
I force myself to look back at the road, but that smile is burned into my retinas. Since when does grumpy Ollie Fletcher have a smile that could melt glaciers? And why am I noticing?
“Phew,” I say. “I was about to throw you out of the car.”
“I don’t think you’re strong enough.”
“Moms can lift cars off their children when they’re in danger.”
He takes a big bite. “You’re not a mom and I’m not your child.”
“The chocolate is my child,” I say, grabbing the other Mars bar before he can take it. “And next time, if you have a problem with delicious snacks, go into the service station and get some boring ones yourself.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Good boy.”
We both fall silent. It’s nice at first, but then it goes on too long. My mind latches on to any sound—Ollie’s breathing. Him shifting on the vinyl seats. And the wind is so loud outside of the car, it makes me feel panicky. I reach for the radio button, but Ollie shoots his hand out at the same time, and his fingers bump mine, strong and warm. For a second, neither of us moves.
He clears his throat. “Here,” he says, turning it on. “You focus on driving; I’ll get the music. I should’ve thought of that.”
“Actually, do you mind pulling up a podcast? I think music might put me to sleep at this point.”
He checks his phone.
“I don’t have service.”
“Check mine,” I say.
He looks at the lock screen. “Nothing. I have some old podcasts downloaded,” he says. “But they’re allBeyond Justiceepisodes. Can you handle that?”
“Fine,” I say, shielding my eyes from someone’s brights coming the opposite way.
“Flash your brights at him,” Ollie says.
“No, that’s rude,” I say.
“It’s not rude.He’srude for keeping his brights on when there’s oncoming traffic.”
