I walk around it. It keeps going.
"How does this even fit on the roads here? The roads here were built for horses."
He unlocks it. The headlights flash, a quiet electric hum as the whole thing wakes up, silent and massive, like a predator opening its eyes.
He opens the passenger door for me and I have to step up to get in. Actually step up, like climbing into a truck bed.
Then I see the interior. Dark leather everywhere, stitched and gleaming. The dashboard is a single screen stretched across the entire width of the car, edge to edge, glowing with maps and displays and the ESCALADE IQ logo floating in the center like a screensaver from the future. It's just one enormous unbroken display and ambient lighting that makes the cabin feel like the bridge of a very expensive spaceship.
I'm sitting inside a satellite that happens to have tires.
"Callahan."
"Yeah?"
"I'm rethinking medical school. If this is firefighter money, I chose wrong."
"It's not firefighter money."
I stare at the screen for a long second, then lean across the center console, close enough to smell the clean woodsy soap from his shower, and whisper:
"Drugs?"
He laughs. I've never heard him laugh. His head tips back against the headrest and the sound that comes out is completely unguarded.
I see his full teeth for the first time. Straight and white, canines slightly longer and sharper than the rest. Just enough to make the whole smile look a little wolfish. A little dangerous. I’ve obsessed over his teeth for the longest time. How is this remotely sane?
The laugh crinkles the corners of his eyes and transforms his entire face from beautiful to devastating.
Still grinning, eyes bright, he meets my gaze, smile wide and open with those canines catching the dashboard light.
"Ramsey." He shakes his head, still grinning. "It was Ramsey, you lunatic."
“Must be nice with millionaire friends,” I shrug and he only gives me a side glance.
I reach over and press the screen. The whole thing lights up. I log into my music app, scroll past anything that might mean something, and land on a playlist of modern hits. Safe. Neutral.
He glances at me. I keep my eyes on the screen. He listens for a few seconds. Nods once, slow.
"This is good."
"You sound surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'macknowledging."
I settle back into the seat. The leather is warm. Heated seats.
"You know, this car has every streaming service known to man. And you were listening to a preset radio station."
"I like that station."
"Callahan, you are driving what looks like a very expensive computer with a screen the size of a dining table, and you're using it to play the same twelve classic rock songs on a loop. You are not utilizing this baby to its full potential." I press my hand to my chest. "I'm genuinely upset about this."
"I'm a simple guy." He says it without apology, eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel. "Once I find something I like, I don't change my mind. That includes radio stations."
He's talking about radio stations. I'm absolutely not going to read into it. I read into it.
"Can I ask you something?"
