Page 11 of The Accidental Dating Experiment

I pat his arm. “I knew you’d see it my way,” I say, when the phone finally connects to the dashboard, displaying a text from my brother.

Sawyer: Hey, knucklehead. Can you grab some of that citrus beach lotion from The Slippery Dipper? Katya is asking for some more.

I reply, Yes, since it’s for your girlfriend and not you, adding a winky face, of course, because I’m not a dick. Then, the dashboard switches to the album art from Moulin Rouge. “Yes! I am victorious!”

“I see you’ve passed the car’s entrance exam.”

“I feel like I just built a rocket. Also, who doesn’t have music on their phone?”

He points a thumb at himself. “This guy.”

“Why? How? Are you even human?”

“Flesh and blood, baby.”

“So why don’t you have music?”

“Too hard to keep up on it,” he says as the car hugs the curves on the road toward Darling Springs. “The musicians, the names, who they are, and so on.”

“Let me get this straight. You don’t listen to music because you don’t want to have to research who sings it?”

He nods. “Yup.”

“You don’t have to know everything, Doctor.” I usually only call him that when he’s being obsessive about information. Which he often is. “Especially since you’re missing out. Music is one of life’s great pleasures. Right up there with good food, chocolate, and dogs.” Then, in a whisper, I add, “and sex.”

His lips twitch in a grin. “Sex and music on the same level?”

“Sometimes,” I say.

He scoffs. “Sex should be better than music.”

I shrug, doubtful. “It isn’t always.”

“You’re having the wrong sex then.”

I stare sharply at him. “Remember when I said you don’t have to know everything? You also don’t have to be a know-it-all.”

He laughs lightly. “Fine, then tell me what music I should listen to. What’s the musical equivalent of sex?”

Ooh, this will be fun. I rub my palms together and start at the beginning. “So many. You’ve got Bryan Ferry and Roxy Music. They’ll put you in the mood. Then there are the stalwarts. Marvin Gaye doesn’t hold back. Ella Fitzgerald is seriously sensual. You can go old school with Usher. It’s hard not to feel sexy when you’re listening to Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga. Don’t even get me started on Beyoncé or The Weeknd or Drake. Or Frank Ocean. Or Halsey or Janelle Monáe.” I rattle off the names, not sure I can stop. There are so many. I may need to listen to some of my faves tonight. “Need I go on?”

Monroe swallows, a little roughly. “I believe you’ve made your point.”

I shimmy my shoulders, preening a little. “Good. Want me to play some now?”

I kind of hope he says no. I don’t need to get in a sexy mood in the car.

“No. Let’s continue with the show tunes torture,” he says.

Thank god. I hit my playlist, and the big, opening number to the jukebox musical fills the car. “There you go.”

He grits his teeth. “I can handle it. I can handle anything.”

“It’ll make you stronger,” I say. “Build your immunity.”

“Excellent,” he grumbles.

As the catchy music plays, I get down to business. “All right. What do you think we’ll walk into in this house? I looked up the link you sent me, but do you think the interior is still the same as in the pictures?”

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