Page 41 of Passenger Princess

“Do you know the address for the next hotel?” Jaime asks when we’re about two hours from our next stop in Tennessee. Our plan once there is to go to the hotel, get ready (in his words,quickly, Ava—none of this fucking around bullshit),and then go to dinner with Miss Tennessee and a few members of the press.

“No.” He sighs, and I smile. “Haven’t you realized I have no idea what is going on on this tour? I’m thetalent. I don’t bother myself with petty things likeaddresses. I barely know what state we’re going to next.”

“We’re going to Tennessee.”

“Yes, I got that, big guy. But I don’t know the nameof the hotel, much less the address for it.” Another sigh before he gestures at his phone and then the screen of the SUV.

“It’s on my phone. Can you grab it and then put the address in?” I nod, reaching to the center console and grabbing his phone, lifting it to his face to unlock it before scrolling to his apps. “It’s in my email, should be from Greg at Five Star.”

“Got it,” I say, but then I freeze at a familiar, vibrant-colored app.

A social media app.

“You big liar,” I say with a smile, pushing his shoulder.

“Jesus, Ava, I’m driving.”

Peach, from her spot in his lap, lifts her head and glares at me.

“You’re driving, and you’re aliar!”

“What am I lying about now?”

I lift the phone and show him the screen even though his eyes barely leave the windshield as I do. “You have social media!”

“Ava, no, I—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“What’s your handle so I can follow you?” I ask, tapping the icon because I’m nosy.

“Ava, I don’t—” he starts.

“Oh,” I say, looking at the phone. He stops attempting to stop me, instead sighing. “Oh.”

I sayoh, because, when I open the phone, there’s a Jaime0914 username with no followers and…one account he’s following.

Me.

The man follows me.

“Ava—”

“When did you start this account?” I ask, but when he doesn’t answer, I look up at him, seeing a deep red flush and a tight jaw. I think I know why when I navigate to his liked posts, trying to see what he’s liked recently.

My content.

The man only likesmy content.

“You got social media,” I say, an accusation of sorts.

He sighs, then nods. “Yeah,” he admits reluctantly.

“Because of me,” I say.

Again, he lets out a deep sigh. “I didn’t get it for my health.”

I let a moment pass before I speak again. “Are you going to admit it yet?” I ask, opening my phone and finding his handle, making sure to follow him.

“Admit what?”

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