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“Like you don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

“You spent all summer rifling through my underwear drawer. You should know better than anyone how many pairs I’m down to.”

The conversation in the back comes to a screeching halt.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t—”

“Where did all my underwear go?”

“I—”

The four eyes drilling into me through the rearview have me sweating.

Underwear. Missing. Me?

Fuck.

Me.

Fuck!

“Sounds like there’s an issue with the cleaners,” I finally say. “You should tell your mom.”

She mumbles something about not telling her mom anything before saying louder, “It couldn’t have been the cleaners. It happened when I was gone. Someone went into my underwear drawer while I was on tour and stole clean pairs.”

“All of them?” I’m not going to state the obvious—that she’s wearing panties right now—but I could. I could also describe them.

“Well…some of them.”

“Which ones?” Dex asks, his eyes still locked on me.

“None of your fucking business,” I growl, eyeing him just as hard. Nothing about Kota’s panties concerns him.

“Ah-ha! You admit it!” Climbing up onto her knees, Kota thrusts a finger at me, the tip almost poking my face as she demands, “How many did you steal?”

I’m glad to see she’s got some of that spunk back but damn. Why does it have to be aimed at me?

“Are you crazy?” I extend my arm out to block her from the dash. “Sit your ass down before you go through the fucking windshield.” I grip the hell out of the oversized hoodie.

“How many?”

Focused on the dark road, all I can do is clench my jaw and shake my head. I wouldn’t have the first fucking idea.

That finger stabs into my cheek. Twice. “How. Many?!”

I tap on the brake, not hard, but enough to dip the front end and make everybody jolt forward.

Raising her arms like it’s a roller-coaster ride, Tina hollers, “Brake check!”

Already holding Kota, I catch her one-handed before she can smash into the dashboard.

“Would you like to sit down now?”

Despite telling me, “No,” she settles into her seat again. Because I posed it as a question. A choice. Her choice.

That’s the trick I have to remember with Kota. Ask. Not tell, not demand, not whatever intimidation tactics Guy used with her.