“No. In the car, on the way back to the hotel.”
“Oh. Is anyone with you?”
“No. Everyone else is still at the stadium. I left right after the last encore.”
“Because you’re tired.”
“Because I wanted to talk to you.” I stifled another yawn, clearing my throat. “Tell me about your day. What did you do after you took me to the airport? Thanks for driving me, by the way.”
“You’re welcome. And, let the record show, you got there on time.”
“That’s because you weren’t driving like my Uncle Harry. For once.”
She laughed again, and the seductive sound relaxed every muscle in my body . . . but one.
“You’ve only driven with me twice. That’s not enough datapoints to make any meaningful extrapolations.”
“I love it when you talk data to me. Say extrapolations again.”
Her laugh was harder this time, and I imagined her blushing. “Tell me about the concert.”
“Well.” I yawned again, irritated because I didn’t want to yawn at all. “It was fine. Vicious Pixies opened for us, do you know who they are?”
“No.” She sounded regretful. “I’m not up on the music scene.”
“That’s fine. You don’t need to know who they are for the story. Their bass guitarist showed up to the stadium around the same time I did, except he was totally shit-faced. High out of his mind.”
“Oh no!”
“Oh yes. I filled in.”
“Oh no!”
“Oh yes. It worked out though. No one realized it was me. I stood in the back, where the light was bad, and wore a beanie.”
That made her giggle and I heard her typing on a keyboard. “I think it’ll take more than a beanie and bad lighting to hide yourself.”
I loved talking to her. Was this what it would be like all the time between us? So easy. Effortless.