Billy Jeffers: Rockers of Steel
““You like red?” I ask as I stroke the soft leather seat.
“It was that or black. The exterior was black, so I went with red. So, sure.”
I kick off my flip-flops and push the start button. “It matches my toes.”
“Excuse me?”
“The color,” I mutter as I adjust the seat then put the vehicle in drive. “Seatbelt.”
I look over after I say it and see he is already buckling. I know it annoys him, and even though I promised myself I would be nice, I still get a warm feeling in my heart from the knowledge I have annoyed him a little. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
“Will you put the address in the navigation system?”
“You know how to get to 95?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“After that is CT-349.” He reaches into the glove box and grabs a pair of aviators.
I reach on top of my head to pull mine down. “Dammit.”
“What’s up?” he asks, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.
“Nothing. No big deal.”
“That’s one thing about females that I never understood.”
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