We have been sitting in silence for several minutes. His truck smells like him, musk, and leather. When I say musk, I don't mean the stinky kind; I mean the manly mankind that makes your head spin when it hits your nose.
I decided I'm tired of sitting and silence and bringing a hand to the radio, turning it on. The sound of a rock beat suddenly hits my ears, and before I can even listen to five seconds of the song, he turns it off.
“Why did you do that?” I swung my gaze toward him, frowned, and demanded an explanation. It was better than sitting in silence, for f**k's sake.
“I don't want it on.” He says.
That's it?
He doesn't want it on, so it can't be on?
Ugh, fine.
Damn, my legs are hurting from all that dancing. I take my shoes off and raise them so that they settle on top of t
