Page 23 of Slick Trip

“You keep making noises.”

“Well excuse me for existing.”

Before I could argue further, he reached over and pressed his warm palm to my forehead. At first, his touch felt electric, but it was quickly followed by relief. I was leaning into his hand before I even realized it, chasing the contact. Panicked by the strong reaction, I jerked my head back.

“What are you doing?”

Jon blinked, caught off guard. “Checking if you have a fever.”

“Well, I don’t,” I said sharply, crossing my arms.

“Right. Sorry I touched your forehead.”

He grabbed his lighter and a pack of cigarettes, then got out of the car. I followed. He gave me a wary look.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Like I want to poison my lungs. You should quit,” I informed him.

“You care about my lungs?” Jon asked, blowing smoke in my direction.

“A valid point. Please continue.”

He smirked. “Remember when you tried to impress me by pretending you were a regular smoker? You used an entire box of matches trying to light one, and when you finally managed, you coughed so hard you turned bright red.”

I bristled. “I wasn’t trying to impress you, egomaniac. I was just demonstrating how stupid you looked.”

“Well, at least you succeeded in looking stupid.”

I climbed back into the car in a huff, Jon following soon after. I pulled a cassette out of the glove compartment.

“Look. Modern Talking,” I said, brightening. “Good stuff.”

A moment later, “You’re My Heart, You’re My Soul” filled the car, followed by “Brother Louie.”

Jon groaned. “What other cassettes are there?”

“This is my—”

“Your trip, yes, you’ve mentioned. But in case you haven’t noticed, I’m here too, and I don’t like Modern Talking.”

“What about old-fashioned yapping?” I asked, making Jon snort. I smiled until I remembered I hated him.

“This smell is driving me insane,” I muttered. Before I could think better of it, I leaned into Jon’s personal space and drew a deep, shaky breath at the crook of his neck.

Fuck.

The effect was immediate and dizzying. I swallowed a moan.

His hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles whitening.

“Tell me you didn’t just sniff me. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I was checking if you had a fever,” I lied, feeling out of breath.

“By sniffing my neck?”

“Maybe it’s not the most traditional way, but it’s still valid.”