He smirks, turning the key in the ignition. “I’ll smile when I have a reason to, which hasn’t happened, yet.” He counters smoothly, shifting gears as we pull out of the driveway.

I roll my eyes, then stretch my legs out, letting the wind whip through my hair. “Oh, don’t worry, Chef, I got your smiles alright,” I tease, slipping my sunglasses on with a smirk. “By the end of today, not only will you have fun, but you’ll be begging me for more.”

Vic glances at me, his eyes trailing down the length of my legs, over the curve of my thighs while licking his lips before flicking back to the road. His grip on the steering wheel tightens.

“Oh, Ms. Kind,” he mutters, voice thick with something sinful. “We’ll see who’s gonna be begging by the end of the day.”

Vic takes off, and we venture to Beverly Mills Beach—my side of town. The hour-long drive to the beach is pure vibes. The music is loud. The energy is high, and the debates are heated.

“You can’t sit here and tell me Outkast didn’t change the game,” I argue, throwing a dramatic hand in the air.

Vic glances over, one hand on the wheel, the other resting dangerously close to my thigh. “I never said they didn’t. But you’re delusional if you think they can out-bar Nas or Biggie.”

I scoff. “Sir, Nas had Illmatic. Outkast had a whole era. A movement. They were a cultural reset.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you love it.”

He hums, like he’s not about to agree with me, but I can see the smirk tugging at his lips. And even though I’m gearing up to hit him with another solid point, the song changes, instantly shifting the vibe.

Oh no. Not a freaky, deeky, panty-dropping, between-the-sheets love song.

The sensual bass, the slow, pleading lyrics—it’s the kind of song that ends with warm hands and tangled limbs. My breath catches, and I feel Vic shift beside me. His fingers drum against the steering wheel.

“I guess R&B ain’t dead after all,” he murmurs, voice low, contemplative. “But you gotta admit, it went dormant for a while. I guess people are ready to feel something again.”

I nod, sinking into the sound and letting it settle into my skin. “Mmm. I missed this. Real love songs. Real feelings. Real yearning. Slow, sexy, make-you-tremble, make-you-wet kind of songs.”

I open my eyes, shocked by my own words, and notice Vic’s grip on the wheel tightening yet again, but I pretend not to notice.

Somewhere in the mix of it all, between the teasing and our effortless conversation, our hands graze on the console. Just a light touch—a small, passing moment, nothing deep, nothing that requires a closer look, just a light, gentle, wanted touch.