CHAPTER SIX
As Michael drove Sheridan, he doubted a machete could cut through the thick tension in his SUV. The silence wasn’t helping, but his radio hadn’t worked in almost a year. He’d lost his aux cord, so he couldn’t plug in his phone. A good thing the drive would only take a few minutes, or it would be more awkward.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, focusing on the road and not his passenger. He didn’t need to glance at her to know she was studying her phone with a must-cram-for-finals intensity to avoid talking to him. Other than to tell him where they needed to deliver the painting to, she’d been doing the same thing since he walked into the living room.
Okay, I get it.
The way she’d acted in his bedroom embarrassed her. Her flushed cheeks and awkward mannerisms were
