He flashed his dimple, and saying yes to him was nearly compulsive.

“Just don’t do anything stupid, like open my car door.”

“Do I look like that kind of guy to you?”

“No, but you don’t look like the kind of guy who makes friends with girls either, and it feels like I’ve got the job.”

He pulled me along, looking both ways before crossing the street. “What can I say? You’re the opposite of my better half.”

“So, I’m so horrible that I make you feel like a better person?” I asked, standing next to the passenger-side door.

He pointed at me. “Exactly.”

He reached for the door handle, but I smacked his hand away.

“Don’t worry, Ivy League. I wouldn’t open your door for you even if I liked you,” he said. “You’re driving. I don’t know where to go, and I damn sure don’t want you barking directions at me.”

“You want me to drive your truck?” I asked, feeling a bit nervous. I hadn’t driven anything in years.

The doors clicked, and Taylor handed me a set of keys—some shiny, some not so shiny. Walking around the front end and then climbing into the driver’s seat, I tried not to show fear, but mostly, I didn’t want to feel it. I closed the door and pulled on my seat belt, horrified that my hands were trembling.

“Do you even have a license?” he asked.

“Yes. I know how to drive. It’s just … been a while.” I sniffed and felt even sicker. “You spent the morning cleaning your truck, didn’t you?”

“Smells like new, doesn’t she?”

“Isn’t it new?”

“She. She is not new, no. I bought her last year.” He took the keys from my hand and chose the largest one to stab into the ignition.

“Jesus,” I whispered. “I really don’t think I should drive … her.”

“You’ll be fine.”

Instantly, the radio blared screamy hard rock.

He twisted the volume. “Sorry.”

“No country?” I asked, resting my hands on the wheel at ten and two.

He laughed once. “Country’s for dancing and crying. AC/DC is for cleaning your truck.”

I made a face. “But … it’s old.”

“The classics never get old. Let’s go.”

I pulled down the gearshift and turned around, slowly backing out of the parking space. A car appeared and honked, and I slammed on the brakes.

Taylor looked at me, his eyebrows shooting up almost to his hairline.

“I desperately want to keep up my cast-iron bitch persona, but I don’t think I can do this,” I said.

“How long did you say it’s been?”

“Five years.”

“Why?”

“No car.”

“Ever? Or did you wreck yours?”

I stared at him, unable to answer.