We’re headed to Savannah today. God knows why, although I don’t think there’s a why for any of her stops.

Other than Miami that is.

The why for that stopover is all too clear. Lucy’s got a boyfriend. Another guy has run his hands up the back of those slim calves, another guy has eased between her thighs after getting her good and wet, another guy has seen those perfect breasts, tasted them….

“Your turn.”

I glance over. “What?”

She points at the console. “It’s been a half hour. Your turn to pick the music.”

Thank God.

Except I’m not in the mood for music, and instead I reach out and punch the power button, leaving us in silence.

A mistake.

Now there’s nothing but the sound of Horny’s struggling air conditioner and my dirty thoughts on repeat in my head.

I’m about to turn the radio back on. Rock. Rap. Country. Anything to block out the memories of how right her small body felt beneath mine, or how hungry her mouth had always been for mine, as though she were made just for me.

The suffocating silence is interrupted by the buzz of a cellphone. I tense, bracing for the stab of jealousy that her boyfriend’s contacting her again, but I realize it’s my own phone.

I go to pick up the phone from the cup holder where I’ve set it next to the M&M’s, but Lucy’s faster.

“Uh-uh,” she says in a singsong, scolding voice. “You weren’t listening to my mom’s lecture. No phone while driving.”

Then before I can rip it away from her, she’s swiped her thumb across the screen, answering the incoming call.

“Reece Sullivan’s phone.”

“Lucy—”

She holds up a finger. “Where is he? He’s in the restroom. It might be a while, if you know what I mean.”

I grab for the phone, but she switches it to the other ear, batting my hand away. “Shannon you say?”

Fuu-uuuck.

Shannon’s a hot but clingy girl I was seeing a few months ago.

One that I might have “forgot” to tell I was moving.

“Of course I’ll pass on the message! He definitely misses you too, hun. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yup, I’ll for sure tell him. Got to run, though, he’s hollering for more toilet paper.”

With that, Lucy ends the call and drops my phone back into the cup holder with a clatter.

I glance over. “Pleased with yourself?”

She bares all of her teeth in a mocking smile. “Shannon misses you. Says she’s in town next weekend.”

I grunt in response.

“You didn’t tell her that you were moving?”

I lift a shoulder.

Lucy is studying me. “Did you tell Abby?”

I can’t help it. I flinch. Abby Mancuso. My high school girlfriend and the one responsible for my and Lucy’s implosion.

Actually, that’s not fair. Abby was the catalyst. The responsibility for that ill-fated moment rests solely with me and Lucy.

“No,” I snap. It’s as much info as she’ll get from me on that subject.

Lucy turns her head and looks out the window. And though I order myself to shut the hell up, I keep talking.

“I haven’t spoken with Abby in months.”

Maybe years? I can’t remember.

Lucy snorts. “Yeah. I’ve heard that before.”

I adjust my grip on the steering wheel to keep from punching the dash in frustration.

“Does your boyfriend know you’re dodging his messages?” I snap.

She whips her head around. “What?”

“Oliver,” I say, deliberately missing his name. “He was texting you last night. Does he know you’re with me?”

“Yes. He knows my parents shackled me to the guy who’s like a second brother.”

Her words are meant to be a jab, and she lands the hit. I can’t stop the wince.

Lucy and I may have been as close as siblings once, but she’s never been like a sibling to me, and I haven’t been one to her either.

“How’d you meet him?” I ask.

She pushes her glasses farther up her nose and stares straight ahead now. “Don’t act like you care.”

Evasion is unlike Lucy. She’s a face-things-head-on kind of girl; it never really occurs to her to play word games. “You’re having second thoughts.”

“I’m not.”

“About him, or about surprising him?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer, and I’m pissed to know how much I wish she’d have said it was the first one.

“We met at a restaurant,” she says, deciding to answer my original question after all. “It was my first internship, and he was a sous-chef. That’s like the assistant—”

“I know what a sous-chef is,” I snap. “Sometimes I even manage to pluck the hay out of my teeth.”

“You know, I thought Horny was pulling to the left because the tire was low on air, but now I see that the chip on your shoulder is what’s pulling the car that way.”

“Who made the first move?” I ask, continuing our destructive pattern of picking and choosing what we respond to.

“I did,” she says. “He was hot and smart.”

“And connected.”

Her head snaps around. “Meaning?”

I spare her a quick glance as I change lanes to pass a slow truck. “Meaning, it can’t hurt to have a guy in the biz, right? An up-and-comer with connections?”