Playing (Inked Hearts 2)

He focuses on the v-neckline of my sweater. "Are you wearing anything under that?"

"Yes. My parents will not be cool with us making out in front of them."

"I'm not sure. Your mom was asking if you're having safe sex."

"I will leave! I swear I will."

He laughs. "And go where?"

"Anyplace I don't have to die of embarrassment."

He pulls me into a hug and presses his lips to mine. "You won't die. I promise."

"I don't know if I can do this," I whisper.

"You can. Come on." He takes my hand and leads me to his car downstairs.

I let him take the lead, putting our things in the trunk, opening the door for me. Then we're in the car, the engine is on, we're heading towards Newport Beach.

"You hungry?" he asks.

I shake my head. I'm not sure I can eat right now.

"Want coffee?"

"Later."

The car moves fast, but it's not crazy fast like that first night we met. It's reasonable.

I turn o

n the radio. It's tuned to KROQ and what do you know, No Way in Hell pours out of the speakers.

Three a.m. and I can't sleep.

A common refrain, I know.

As a sentiment, it's cheap.

Someone to call, to hold,

to love, no way, that word—

She smiles and I drift away—

My cheeks flush. I stammer something incomprehensible and change the station.

"You know, most girls feel flattered when someone writes a song about them," he says.

I press my back against the seat. "You've never said that it's about me."

His fingers curl around the wheel. "It is."

"Oh."

"You're cute when you're nervous."

I turn my attention to the window, but there's nothing to see. Only overpasses, exit signs, rows of condos. "Why did you write a song about me?"