"You truly are a spoiled brat," Simon grumbles as he backs his car out of the mall's parking lot.

"And stop wearing my stuff," he shakes his head while glancing briefly at you. You're wearing his black jacket like it's yours. It's really not. You took it from his couch a few days ago when you went to his place.

He connected the radio to his phone before tossing it to you, letting you pick the song.