The Road That Leads to Us (Us 1)

When I was ready, I backed out of the parking lot and listened to the directions the phone barked at me.

“She has a supremely unpleasant voice.” Dean’s nose crinkled with distaste. “I far prefer your navigating style.”

“You mean when I say, ‘Fuck, we went the wrong way!’ all the time?”

He chuckled and twisted in his seat to reach for something in the back. “Yeah, I find it highly amusing. Your nose scrunches, you squint your eyes, and you crinkle the map in your hands. That poor thing will be so wrinkled by the time we get home it’ll practically be a museum relic.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, but he was too busy searching in the back to notice.

“What are you doing?” I asked him, glancing behind me and then quickly back at the road.

“Got it.” He pulled his guitar from the back and into his lap.

“Why do you need your guitar?” I asked hesitantly, tapping my fingers restlessly against the steering wheel.

“Shh,” he hushed me, “sit back, relax, and let the majesty of my voice wash over you.”

“Huh?” I turned quickly to see him fidgeting in the seat. His straight white teeth dug into his bottom lip and he drummed his fingers against the top of his guitar as he thought.

“I’m trying to serenade you, but you’re shorting out my brain with all your chatter. Shush.” He leaned over and pressed a single finger to my lips.

Me? Quiet? Was he crazy?

“Dean—”

He began to strum the guitar, and then the real magic happened.

My mouth dropped open and I shook my head in disbelief.

“Are you seriously ‘serenading,’” I mimicked his tone, “me with the Pokémon theme song?”

“The original theme song,” he corrected, before returning to where he’d left off in the song.

I couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled past my lips.

Forcing myself to keep my eyes on the road, and not to glance at Dean sitting sprawled out beside me with the guitar in his lap, I said, “You sure know how to woo a girl.”

He finished the song and set the guitar on the floor of the car between his legs. “I try,” he responded to my comment.

“That’s it?” I gasped. “I don’t get another song?”

“I’m done for now.” He grinned, resting his arm on the edge of the door.

With the top down his hair blew in the wind. I had my hat on, so mine didn’t go anywhere. I hated it whipping in my face and constantly having to bat it away.

“You just wanted to sing the Pokémon theme song, didn’t you?”

He did this little half-shrug thing and looked out the window. “Possibly.”

“I can see why Brooklyn hid your Pokémon cards from you. You’re obsessed.”

He busted out laughing—the kind of booming laugh that shakes your whole body and leaves tears in your eyes.

Sobering, he said, “I honestly didn’t talk about Pokémon that much with her. I knew she wouldn’t embrace my weirdness the way you do.”

I stole a quick glance at him, my brows furrowed. “You’re not weird, you’re just you.”

He grinned at that.