𝐄𝐳𝐫𝐚 | 18+

04

"I have to warn you though..." I start, handing him the seatbelt for him to strap in. "...I'm an excellent chef and might just blow your tastebuds away." I finish.

He hums softly and I shut the door. I walk over to the driver side and hop in, turning the engine on.

"Your place, my place, Chick-Fil-A or Chipotle?" I say, putting the car in reverse and backing out of the parking lot.

"There's food at my house," he says. I drive down the main road, like a normal person this time.

I wonder what people think when they see me zooming past in a black Range Rover. Like what were people thinking when they saw me behind the wheel driving like a madwoman and a man next to me looking as if he was in immense pain. If it were me, my first thought would be that the man was in labor.

Anywho.

"Take a left at the traffic light," He instructs, going through various radio stations.

"You sound like you're taking english class," I say randomly. He looks at me questioningly.

"What?" He mutters.

"When you take a language class, you usually learn how to give directions and that's what you reminded me of. I used to take Italian in high school since it was an option. The other option was Greek and I thought I had taken the easy way out until we got to the grammar part. God, you have no idea how many fucking verbs those little Italians use. There's at least like five tenses for each verb and there's literally a verb for everything. By the end of the year, let me tell you I was dead." I say, breaking harshly at the red light. His body is throw forwards a bit.

He mutters something along the lines of "How many times are you going to try to kill me?" and shakes his head.

"There's an Italian radio station here." He says, turning the radio knob until he reaches the station he was looking for. All of the sudden the car is full of italian words of a song from the 60's of which I have no clue what they mean. Ezra sings along to the song and seems to not miss a beat.

"You know this song?" I ask, stepping on the gas and turning left when the light turns green.

"My grandma used to play it all of the time on her record player." He says.

"Oh, cool." I nod, brushing the subject off. Ezra's phone starts ringing and he pulls it out of his pocket, looking at the name and groaning.

"You don't like them?" I ask, trying to guess the reason why he's huffing and puffing.

"It's a spam call." He grumbles, looking at the phone as if he were reading all of the numbers one by one. When my phone rings sometimes, I wait for it to stop ringing so I can either text the person and ask them what they want or go back to what I was doing and pretending like I wasn't on my phone.

"Let me answer it. I'll pretend it's the wrong number or something, I've done it countless times to telemarketers trying to sell me random shit."

"It's illegal to drive and use the phone." He responds.

"Nonsense." He hands me the phone and I speak before the person has a chance.

"Hello, Mc.Donald's, how can I help you?" I chirp.

"What-"

"This is Mc.Donald's? Hello, are you there? Would you like to place an order?"

"Hi, yea uhm...would you like to buy-"

"No, we have one already. Goodbye, have a nice day." I hang up and give Ezra the phone back.

"Nicely played," he nods and puts his phone back. We both groan when it starts ringing again.