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I arch a brow at him. “Seriously? You’ll suck my dick but won’t touch my socks?”
His face screws up in distaste. “I don’t really like feet.”
I feel a slow smile curving my lips as I walk over to collect my shoes and socks. “Oh, yousoshouldn’t have told me that.” I’ll definitely have to come up with something foot-related for my list. Pedicures maybe?
We return to the car, and I don’t argue when Alastor heads for the driver’s side.
“Here,” he says, shoving my t-shirt at me. “Put this on or I won’t be able to concentrate.”
Unable to hide my smirk, I dutifully tug my t-shirt over my head and relax back in the passenger seat, tapping my foot to the tune of “Zebra” by John Butler Trio as we pull out of the airport.
We spend the forty-minute drive to my place locked in a debate over Alastor’s music selection. He has a playlist featuring all Aussie artists, which is great, but he’s missing a ton of the best ones. There’s no Veronicas, no Sheppard, no Savage Garden. Not even any Kylie. How can you have an Aussie playlist without Kylie?
“Oh my god, give it a rest,” he grinds out, clearly frustrated as hell. “If I add a Kylie song, will you let it go?”
“Just one?” How could you possibly narrow it down to just one?
“Just one,” he says firmly. “And I get to choose.”
I eye him critically for a moment, trying to work out the catch. “It can’t be the one with Nick Cave.”
“Damn it,” Alastor mutters, looking incredibly annoyed to be called out. “That’s the only good one.”
I let out a dramatic gasp, narrowing my eyes at him. “Oh my god, you really are the devil.”
Alastor just rolls his eyes.
“It’s okay. I’m going to add that to the list.”
“Addwhatto the list?” he asks warily.
I shrug. “Jack gets to fix your playlist.”
“You meandestroymy playlist,” he grumbles. “Also
referring to yourself in the third person is fucking weird.”
I ignore him. “Also going on the list—pedicures.”
He shoots me a fierce glare before returning his eyes to
the road. “Fine. I’m adding CBT tomylist.”
“Cognitive Behavioural Therapy? I ask in confusion. His lips form into a smirk. “Not that CBT.”
14
Alastor
Our bickering dies down as we near Jack’s place, and when I pull up out the front of his building, I know it’s time to address the elephant. We might have been having fun for the past few hours, and he may have reversed his stance on us not hooking up again, but that doesn’t mean the air’s completely clear.
“I really am sorry,” I murmur, my eyes fixed determinedly out the window.
I feel his eyes on me for a long moment before he asks, “For not having Kylie on your playlist?”
I swing my gaze to him, one brow arched pointedly. “Don’t be a dick, you know what I’m talking about.”
He nods, features arranged in a solemn expression. “Yeah. And I know it wasn’t intentional.”
