You look over at Luke, grinning widely. He's wearing an expression to match your own, a look of complete joy. The strong wind whipping his blonde hair out of its usual quiff, he looks much younger and much happier, the crinkles around his eyes visible behind tinted sunglasses that never seemed to keep the pap away like they were supposed to. You reach over and hit a dial on the dashboard of the car, twisting the radio up as loud as it will go in an attempt to be heard over the constant roar of air rushing by your ears as you fly down the highway, convertible top down.
The song is something new and pop-y that you don't recognize, but that Luke seems to immediately pick up on. When you reach out to adjust the station, you feel his hand land on top of yours, a silent request to leave it be. Smiling, you return your hand to the steering wheel and focus on the road in front of you. Careful not to push the speed limit too much, you laugh along as Luke changes the lyrics to random phrases that make no sense, a habit he picked up from hanging out with the One Direction boys. The song fades away to commercial, and your hand flies to the dial once more. You look over at him seeking his permission, and this time, he relents.
When you land on a channel playing old school rock, you pull away, singing obnoxiously. "I love rock and roll, so put another dime in the jukebox, baby!" Luke joins in, morphing his normally angelic voice into a sadistic croon to mock your own tone-deaf one. You swat him on the arm playfully, giggling, but he continues dramatically. "If you're going to be like that, I might just change the song," you threaten, yelling to be heard.
"You wouldn't dare," he gasps, straining over the noise as well. You shoot him a devious glance before quickly switching the station to one playing only country. Luke winces, an apologetic look crossing his face and transforming his features into a heart-melting, pleading expression that would have been completely irresistible were it not for the sunglasses hiding his crystal blue eyes.
"Ooh, I like this one," you tease, adding to his distress. "Baby you a song, you make me wanna roll my windows down and cruuuuise," you sing, putting unnecessary twang into your voice until Luke literally covers his ears with both hands.
"Okay, okay, you win," he exclaims. "Now can you change it back?" You brighten visibly and nod enthusiastically, pleased at your control over your boyfriend. But before you do as he asks, you turn and lock eyes with him, motioning with one finger for him to come closer.
"One one condition," you whisper into his ear, eyes still set on the road in front of you. He glances at you expectantly, waiting for you to finish. "You have to do the dishes." Pouting sulkily, he regretfully agrees, and your fingers find the knob one last time. But instead of changing it back, you turn it all they way off.
"What was that for?" he asks, indignant. You had since pulled off of the highway and were going a lot slower, and both your voices were relieved that they no longer had to strain to be heard. You make one last turn before pulling into a driveway at the end of the street, which dead-ends in a cul-de-sac.
"We're here." A look of dawning takes over his features, quickly replaced by one of annoyance.
"You tricked me." He looks at you, hurt. My girlfriend freaking tricked me!" You know he's not really that upset, but you can't help but feel bad. To make it worse, he pushes his sunglasses up to rest on top of his wind-ruffled hair, revealing those gorgeous irises that are your weakness.
"Awh, I'm sorry, Lukey," you baby him, "but you see, that's what girlfriends are for."
"I thought they were for kissing," he states boldly, looking more devilish than confused.
"... And here comes Lucifer," you manage to make out before he pulls you in, cutting off anything else you might have said.
But no matter how good of a kisser he was, you still made Luke do the dishes.
