Page 49 of Donovan's Men

Obviously, we’d been listening to some kind of narration. Of two guys. Having sex.

Donovan met our gazes. Then rubbed his hand over his face. “It’s not what you think.”

If his skin hadn’t been so dark, I would’ve sworn he was blushing.

“I enjoy that narrator.” Hamish turned in his seat. “I don’t know that book, though. A gay romance? Or erotica?”

Donovan cleared his throat. “Gay romance. I can, uh, highly recommend both the narrator and the series.” He buried his face in his hands.

“Do you want to start from the beginning or pick up where we were?” I put the SUV in Drive—since I’d backed into his spot. I checked both ways and then executed a left turn.

“I think silence is a good idea.” Donovan said the words on a sigh.

“How about a playlist?” Hamish scratched his nose.

Which I caught in my peripheral vision.

“My playlists are…eclectic.”

I turned onto East 22nd Avenue. “In what way?” I wasn’t going to stereotype music because I listened to a wide variety. Well, except country music. Hardnoon that.

“Mostly musicals.”

“Oh.” Hamish rubbed his hands together.

“You need me to turn on the heat?” I wasn’t cold, but maybe he was. I had controls for each seat.

“What? Oh, no.” He flapped his hands. “I adore musicals.”

Donovan sighed. Listed about ten and sighed again.

I held in the laugh.

Barely.

Hamish nearly bounced in his seat. Still, he met my gaze as I was stopped at the red light. Waiting to turn north on Boundary Road. “Do you have a preference?”

“Nope.” I grinned. “I haven’t heard any of those—so this is between the two of you.”

I got a left-turn arrow and executed the move as quickly as I could.

A discussion ensued between the two men, and by the time I hit the Canada Way intersection, they had settled on something.

Music came through the speakers—much quieter than before.

“Hey, Donovan?” I glanced quickly into the rearview mirror.

“Yep?”

“Can you see how bad the Number One is to the exit to the Number Seven? Does it make more sense to get on the Number Seven now?”

He tapped a few times and grinned. “The congestion eases past Deer Lake Parkway. So the freeway appears to be the better bet.”

“All right.” I made the right turn onto the on-ramp. And had barely accelerated before hitting the sea of red lights.

Donovan squeezed my shoulder. “Mapshas never led me wrong.”

I flashed to all the stories of people winding up in lakes because they followed their GPS. Still, I decided I’d trust it for traffic gridlock.