I moved to get into my car but was stopped by Phoenix’s hands again.
“What?” I snapped, turning around in his arms. “What could I have possibly done already that has your panties in a bunch?”
He scowled, his blue eyes cold as ice. “No chance in hell are you driving.”
“Why not?”
“Because it isn’t…” He looked around, his eyes darting from me to the car. “…safe.”
“For me or for the pedestrians?”
“For both.” Phoenix sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And does everything have to be an argument with you. Who has the gun, Bee?”
“If I said both of us, would you strip search me?”
Phoenix cursed. “No. I’d let Sergio do it. I know how much he enjoys that task.”
“Someone’s grumpy this morning.”
“Probably all that heavy food I ate last night.”
“Blame the comfort food all you want… but you liked it.”
“This isn’t about lasagna. This is about you irritating the hell out of me for your own entertainment. Now, I’m asking nicely, please, get in the car, my car, and I’ll drive you to school, where I promise not to point my gun at anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”
I snorted. “That was you asking nicely?”
“Yup.” He crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “Now what will it be?”
“Like I have a choice,” I muttered and brushed past him, attempting to throw him off balance, but it was like a mouse running into a cliff headfirst. It hurt the mouse and made the cliff laugh its ass off.
“About damn time.” Phoenix unlocked the doors to his shiny black Mercedes.
I had a really desperate need to scratch my door handle or at least sneeze on the upholstery, but it probably still wouldn’t get a reaction from him. I was learning that even the negative reactions were something I craved, because at least it was something. How dysfunctional could I be?
Once we were on the road, Phoenix chose the correct music for our drive. I say correct because, according to him, one didn’t start the day listening to hip-hop or anything remotely fun. No. Mr. Rogers had me listening to classical music.
Classical.
Mozart, to be exact.
Not that I wasn’t a fan of the arts, but really? It just seemed so against what you would expect from him. He was the bad boy personified; like, if you put his name in the dictionary, right next to it would be “And mothers warned their daughters to stay away, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and that heart wants that body… bad.”
He was all lean muscle and tight abs.
And I could have sworn he had a dimple, but I’d never actually seen it. Phoenix’s dimple was like Bigfoot; I’d seen glimpses in pictures and via rumors, but I had never actually seen it for myself.
One day.
One day I’d catch it and take a mental picture or five. Maybe ten. Needless to say, I knew that if I had one of his smiles, it would be a magical thing.
His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard I had a brief moment of panic thinking he was actually going to rip the thing from the dash and have a breakdown. Sad part? I half-expected it. He wasn’t acting normal… well, he was always moody, but this morning he seemed downright suicidal.
“So…” I tried to zone out the instruments assaulting my sanity. “You went to Eagle Elite, right?”
He was quiet for a minute then gave a swift nod.
“Wow, don’t talk so fast. I almost didn’t get all that.”
And crickets. Again.
I cleared my throat. “You graduate?”
“Sort of.”
“How do you sort of graduate?”
“Did you bring lunch money?” He asked in a tight voice.
I gaped. “Did you just ask me if I brought lunch money?”
He shrugged.
“You’re driving me to school, forcing Mozart on my poor sensitive morning ears, and just asked me if I had money for milk.”
“I’m concerned about you eating. Sue me.”
“Pretty sure the Nicolasi boss can afford to spare me a few dollars for a sandwich and a can of pop.”
“No pop.”
“Who died and made you my grandpa? Seriously. I want to know so I can steal your gun and point it at them.”
“Nobody touches my gun.”
“Which one?” I smirked, hoping he’d find the humor in my sexual innuendo, but who was I kidding? It was Phoenix. He simply grunted, rolled his eyes, and kept driving.
In a moment of pure rebellion, I undid the first two buttons of my white, collared shirt.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice calm, his eyes still on the road.
“Wow, you really are like a parent. You can see me even when you aren’t looking.”
“Button that shit to your chin before I pull this car over.”
“Put on Jay-Z, and we’ll talk.”
More cursing.
I undid another button.
“Son of a bitch, you’re annoying.”
“Is this our first lovers’ spat?”
“Were there drugs in your toast?” He finally glanced at me, his blue eyes chilling me to the bone. “Be serious. I don’t want to get called into the dean’s office because you’re high.”
“Do I look like I’m on drugs?”
“Is this a trick question?”