Does this car have Bluetooth?”
Oliver chuckles. “Yes, Princess Estelle, is it up to par with your inspection?”
I stop moving my hand over the dash and set it back on my lap, feeling a blush creep into my face.
“I liked your old car better,” I say.
Oliver’s eyebrows hike up and he turns to gape at me. “You like my beat-up Maxima better than this?”
I shrug. “It was more cozy. This reminds me of the Batmobile, and there’s nothing wrong with the Batmobile, but I like cozy.”
He shakes his head and mutters something under his breath, but starts to look for my phone to hook up to Bluetooth. He already knows it’s because I want to play my own music—I don’t even have to explain. I used to bring my own CD whenever I was in the car with him. Oliver listens to two things: heavy rock and rap, and while I’m okay with both, I prefer the classics. The Steve Miller Band hasn’t even gotten to the hook before they’re interrupted by a call from Mia.
Oliver looks at me with a question in his eyes.
“If you don’t mind,” I say. He presses the button, and before I say hello, Mia’s frantic voice comes through.
“What underwear are you wearing?” she asks.
My face goes hot for the second time this morning. From the corner of my eye, I see Oliver bite down on his lip.
“What?” I ask. “Mia, you’re on speaker phone!”
“I don’t care. This is an emergency. Do you not hear the shrill tone in my voice? What are you wearing under your clothes?”
My eyes snap to the side of Oliver’s face, then out the front window, and finally, I pull my shirt slightly and look down, because I completely forgot what underwear I have on.
“Can you disconnect the phone?” I say to Oliver, who shakes his head in refusal. “Please. This is like . . . monumentally embarrassing.”
“Just answer,” he whispers.
“Who’s that?” Mia asks.
“Oliver. We’re in his car, and you’re on the fucking Bluetooth.”
She laughs. “Oh my God! I am so sorry, Bean!”
“What?” I shout. “He’s not the one being harassed!”
“Oh, but now he is. So tell me—underwear?”
“White lace bra and matching boy shorts,” I say, almost through my teeth, not missing the way Oliver’s eyes snap to me with an approving look. I want to slap him for it, but I know nothing good would come of that, so I just cross my arms over my chest like a petulant child.