Page 19 of The Boyfriend Swap

I frowned. “I really wanted to finish this audiobook.Buried Bones.Have you read it? It’s seriously dark.”

“I haven’t read it, but listening to it from the middle would spoil it for me, wouldn’t it?”

Staring him down, I said, “Be honest with me. You’re not going to read it, are you?”

Perry smiled sheepishly. “No.”

“Then there’s nothing to spoil.” I grinned. Logic won out every time.

Perry blinked his cobalt blue eyes at me. “Road trips are for singing, not reading.”

I sighed and opened my mouth to tell him it was my car, which made me the entertainment DJ, but then I remembered Perry was doing me a favor and decided to play nice. I was dying to know how the book ended, but it could wait. “Music it is. What do you want to listen to?” I shook my shoulders. A little car dancing might do my stressed-out body good. As long as it wasn’t hip-hop or country.

“I have some new Drake, but if you don’t like hip-hop, how about Rascal Flatts?”

Even though it was winter, I liked keeping the sunroof open when I drove, but the wind coming through flopped my bangs into my eyes. Brushing them out of the way so I could see the road, I said, “You have anything less genre specific?”

Perry scrunched his forehead. “You mean like pop?”

“I guess.”

His cheeks dimpled and he placed his iPod on the seat between us. “It’s all on here. Just skip anything you don’t want to hear.”

“Great. I’m not picky. You can man the music.” The first song came on—a silly boy band whose name escaped me. “Not this one,” I said.

“No problemo.” Perry tapped his device and grinned as the notes of another song played out of the stereo speakers.

“I hate her,” I said with a grimace.

Perry gaped at me. “How can you hate her? She’s a musical icon.”

I shrugged. “Not a fan.”

Rolling his eyes, Perry muttered, “No accounting for taste.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. How about this one?”

I pursed my lips. “Next.”

Perry’s eyes bugged out. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Raising an eyebrow, I said, “Do Ilooklike I’m kidding?”

He sighed. “Not unless you’re pretending to be my eighth-grade history teacher, Mrs. McAndrews. She was mean, by the way, and never joked about anything.”

We sat in silence for a few moments while Perry tinkered with his device. “This is like the least offensive song I can think of.”

I listened as the first notes played. “Fine.” It wasn’t my favorite, but it would do.

“You sure?”

“Yes. I told you I’m not picky.”

Perry laughed. “No. You’re the most musically flexible woman I’ve ever met.”

I frowned. “Are you toying with me?”

---