“What are you waiting for? Me to die while you stare at me?” He crosses his arms and shoots me a petulant glare from beneath his trucker hat. I just sigh. Anyone who thinks I’m hard to handle should try helping Clyde. “I’m waiting for you to put your seat belt on.” “Pfft. I don’t need a seat belt. I grew up in cars that didn’t even have ’em. And look at me.” He holds his arms out wide. “I turned out fine.” My brows drop. “I think our definitions of fine might be different.” Clyde’s lips twitch. “You’re so crabby. Still stewing over the wall-punching incident?”
