“Tales, come on; you can do that shit later.” He snaps his fingers. “Queenie is arriving soon, and I sure as hell don’t want to be late. I’ll catch hell.”

I throw the floss away and reach in my bag. “Memphis?”

“Tales?”

“Do you know where my phone is?”

He shakes his head. “Where did you have it last?”

“Probably my pocket? I don’t know.”

His eyes widen, and he cringes. “Clothes are gone to the laundry.”

“Someone is washing my clothes?”

“And mine. Can you imagine what they must be doing in that washing machine?”

I completely ignore his sexual innuendo. “Did you check the pockets before you put them in?”

“I don’t do laundry.” He looks at his phone. “Time, Tales. Let’s roll, or we’ll be late.” He hurries out the door, and I follow behind. “I’ll send a text; we’ll find it.”

Once outside, he hits the key fob and unlocks the doors to a black Escalade. Then he opens the passenger door.

“Chop, chop, sweet cheeks.”

I feel a blush rising on my face as I climb in, and I’m pretty sure he groans behind me before shutting the door.

He hops in the driver’s seat, then moves the seat back. “Haven’t driven in a while”—he laughs—“so buckle up.”

“How long?” I ask, and he merely chuckles.

“Been on the road for a year, so I’d say a year. Might get a little hairy out there.” He reaches out and messes up my hair.

He has always poked fun at my hair. Apparently, he still does. How stupid am I for thinking he was attracted to me? His sexual innuendoes were nothing except a joke, or maybe he just wanted to have sex, which he obviously gets a lot of.

“You’re quiet. Felling shitty?”

I smirk and shake my head.

“Tales, you really need to get over the giggles when someone curses.” He pulls out and starts down the brick driveway. “Tell me about school, about your father. How is your mom?”

“Why?”

“’Cause I want to know what I’ve missed.”

“Tell me about being on the road for a year.”

He stops in front of the gate and looks at me as we wait for it to open. “I really am sorry about your dad, Tales.”

“Thanks.”

“He’s in a better place, right?” he asks sincerely.

I nod. “Yes, he’s where he’d want to be.”

“Your mom? Church family taking care of her?”

“She’s okay. She misses Dad, but she has a new place, and—”

“A new place? She isn’t in the house?” he asks in shock.

“It belongs to the church.”

“Probably easier being away from the house, though, right?” he asks, pulling out onto the road, where he guns it. “Memories and shit?” I grab the handle above the passenger window, and he snickers. “You know what that’s called, Tales?”

“What?”

“The handle. It’s the oh-shit handle.”

“You drive like a maniac.” I grab the one on the dash while he weaves into traffic at a speed I am sure is higher than it should be.

“I drive how I bang, Tales. I get you from start to screaming orgasm in record time.”

“That must be why they don’t stick around.” I am terrified of the way he drives. “Memphis Black, slow down!”

He laughs. “They don’t want to leave, Tales; trust me. Never had a complaint, just requests for an encore.”

He hits the gas, and I see the airport sign.

“Left lane, Memphis”

“Shit.” He guns it again. “You keep fucking me up with all the sex talk, Tales, and we’ll either be in the back of an ambulance or in the backseat.”

“I’d like to get to the airport without either detour, thank you.”

“Damn, sweet cheeks is cracking funnies,” he says.

Once settled into the proper lane, he reaches up and turns on the radio.

“Love this song.”

I look at the radio, seeing “I Followed Fires” by Matthew and the Atlas scrolling across the display.

He begins strumming on the steering wheel, and his head starts bobbing slightly. He gets that look of intensity on his face, exactly like when we were younger, and starts to sing along.

“There’s a devil at your door, and he grows, he grows. So I’ve been told he had a heart of gold …”

He continues singing as I lean back in the seat and take in the smooth sound of his voice, watching his incredibly handsome face as he sings a story, his facial expression—heck, he puts everything into it. He feels every word, and watching him, you do the same. He is truly an artist, always has been.

The song ends and the next begins.

He laughs. “Want some chocolate, Tales?”

“What?” I ask, confused.

In the blink of an eye, he starts singing this crazy song about chocolate. He sings it to me, smiling and bobbing his head. He grabs my hand and holds it up like a microphone and starts singing into it. I can’t help laughing, which he does, too, but doesn’t miss a beat.

The dash reads “Chocolate” by The 1975.

The way he is looking at me is best described as sinful because it makes me think of his mouth and his perfectly shaped lips. His hair is a mess, his T-shirt fits him like a glove, and his shorts are white. I have no idea why I am checking him out in such detail, but I am. When I realize it, I look up, our eyes meet, and his lip curls up at the corner.

“I’d give my left nut to know what the hell you were just thinking.” His voice is thick and raspy.

“I was thinking you’re going to miss the turn,” I say, pulling my hand away and grabbing those handles.

He crosses over two lanes to the sound of horns from angry drivers, and he is laughing.

“You’re going to kill us!” I screech.

“Fuck that. They have breaks, and I had plenty of time, sweet cheeks.”

“Have you always been such an awful driver?” I ask in anger as I hold my hand over my chest, thinking any moment my heart is going to beat out of it.

“I drive just fine. And would you look at the time. Damn near perfect.”

He pulls up in front of Virgin Air and smiles as he grabs his phone. “Mads is at baggage claim now.” He taps a reply on his screen, then tosses it on the dash before reaching in the back and grabbing something. He turns around and shows me the sign.

“The Mad Queen’s Ride. You think she’ll like it?”

“You know she will.” I laugh.

“Yeah, I do. As much of a pain in the ass as she is, I’ve kind of missed her, Tales.” He hits his hazard lights and opens his door. He quickly walks around the vehicle and opens my door.

“Come on. I think she’ll be happier to see you than me.”

I get out and start for the door, but he grabs my elbow.

“No way, Tales. You’re gonna stand here with me and look like an idiot holding the other half of this sign.”

“Shouldn’t we go in?”

“Nah. I can’t be that easy. She’ll think I actually like her.” He winks. “Gotta play hard to get, you know.”

The way he looks at me makes me think he’s talking about me. The way he’s still staring at me makes me realize I’m right.

His thumb is running slowly back and forth on the side of my elbow.

“Memphis?”

“Tales?”

“You’re holding my arm.”

“Shit.” He lets go. “Sorry, sweet cheeks.”

I turn around when I hear his name behind me and see three girls whispering.

He grabs me with one arm around my waist and pulls me against his side.

“What are you—?”

“Are you Memphis Black from STD?” a blonde with a very short shirt and huge breasts asks.

“What gave it away?” he asks in a very flirtatious manner.

“The hair,” a brunette swoons.

“The ink,” the blonde purrs.

“The total package,” the other girl with ambrosia hair says, blatantly staring at his crotch.

“Can we give you our number?” one asks.

“I am dying for an STD,” the brunette who ends everything in a purr says.

“Gave her one two months ago,” he says, pulling me tighter. “In about seven more months, she’ll be giving birth to it, so I will have to pass this time, ladies.”

I look up at him, ready to let him have it, but he pushes my head so my face is buried in his chest.