“You used to be a lot of things,” I muttered, willing my body to stop reacting to him, to ignore the way my heart betrayed me, hammering loudly enough that I was sure he could hear it too.

“Hope he knows what he’s doing,” he murmured. “Would be a shame if you wasted your best pink outfit on the wrong guy.”

I bit the inside of my cheek and pulled at the hem of my skirt, suddenly hating how obvious the color was against the black interior of the car. Now I wished I had worn something else. Something boring. Something he wouldn’t look at twice. Something that wouldn’t make his gaze linger on my legs before he caught himself and turned his eyes back to the road.

His fingers tapped against the gearshift, tap, tap, tap, in time with Always Be My Sunshine by Jay-Z.

I swallowed hard. I hated that song. Not because it was bad, but because I loved it. Because Blake had put it on a mixtape for me once, back when mixtapes still meant something, back when we still meant something.

“Where am I dropping you off?”

“Sunset and Vine.”

Blake hummed. “Good spot.”

I nodded, not looking at him.

And that should have been the end of it. Blake was just giving me a ride. Just getting me from point A to point B.

“Is this your first date with him?”

I sighed, shifting in my seat. “Yes, Blake.”

“You nervous?”

“Why do you care?”

His wrist flexed as he made a turn. “I don’t.”

I stared straight ahead, watching as the city came into view. “Then don’t ask.”

“Beverly, I know you’re nervous. You keep fidgeting.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“If you say so.”

“Why are you so annoying?”

“Born this way.”

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head.

“What do you like about him?”

I blinked. “Excuse me? What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.”

“Are you serious?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

I closed my eyes for a second before forcing them open again. “He’s nice, okay?”

Blake made a low, unimpressed sound.

My patience snapped. “What do you want me to say, Blake? That he’s the love of my life? We both know that’s not true.”

“Why didn’t you tell him to pick you up? That’s what a guy does, right? When he’s taking a girl on a real date. He picks her up. Opens the door for her. Tells her how pretty she looks in her little pink outfit.”

My fingers dug into my thighs.

“Did he even ask?” he continued, his voice annoyingly soft. “Or did you just offer to meet him there?”

“Just drop it, Blake. You don’t get to judge this.”

Blake exhaled sharply, rolling his neck. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess I don’t.”