She glances over at me. “I’m sure. Why?”
“You could be dating someone by then.”
“No chance of that.”
“You really think you’ll last that long?”
“Oh ye of little faith. And what would it matter if I was dating? I want to take you. So, will you come?”
“Sure, if I don’t have a game.”
“Shit. I forgot about that. Okay, well it’s the 23rd, so let me know.”
“I mean, I guess I could miss one game.”
I glance over to see she’s grinning at me. “You don’t have to do that, nice guy.”
“I know.”
Her smile widens.
My chest expands a little.
Fuck.
I don’t feel it from her. That’s the truth. I feel friendship, curiosity, but I’m not getting the vibes. Which may mean abandoning this friendship before it starts.
“Maybe, I’ll have to see,” I backpedal and see her frown.
“Okay, well, this is me,” she says, hitching a thumb over her shoulder as I slow to a stop.
I lean over into her seat to see the abomination she’s referring to. “What in the hell is that?”
“Mind your tongue, city boy, that there is Ole Faithful. And I swear, if you wish her any ill will, she will not start.”
I scour the old two-ton truck. The color is indistinguishable between the gaping rust spots. If I had to guess, I would say once upon a year it was red. The body style can’t be any younger than the seventies, and that’s being generous.
“Laney, that is not safe.”
“It’s as old as my mother. A classic. And it passes inspection every year.”
“Who do you have to bribe to get the sticker?”
She laughs. “Well, a family friend owns the shop.”
“I thought as much. That thing looks like the Jeepers Creepers truck. Seriously, it looks like it belongs to a serial killer.”
She presses her lips together and glances over her shoulder longingly at the truck. “It was my gran’s.”
Was. As in past tense. I’m an asshole.
“I’m an asshole. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” she says sheepishly. “It really is ugly as shit. I know. But I love it. It actually runs well in temps between forty and eighty degrees.”
“This is serious logic you’re using.”
She bobs her head. “Yep.”
She manages to find her keys in her purse in record speed and leans over and presses a chaste kiss to my cheek. I ignore the thud in my chest. “See you, Theo. Thanks for today.”
“See you, Laney.”
I wait until Ole Faithful starts on the third try and watch her drive away.
#twisterballet #newbestfriends #karateinthebasement #suckityoga #therightwaytosunsetpic #livingourrealestlife
Grannism—Don’t give anyone the whole map, and only trust a few with directions.
Laney
“He’s going for it,” some guy announces to my right as I stroll through campus. Following his line of sight, I turn to see another lovestruck sucker as he drops to his knees under the Era Tree.
“Another one bites the dust,” a guy mumbles in amusement crossing his arms while grinning at the spectacle.
“Yep, he’s proposing,” another says.
The Era Tree is a sprawling oak with ridiculously long branches that trace the ground around a giant trunk. The ancient oak is a campus landmark and is also the setting of a TGU tradition. Legend has it, if you walk under the Era Tree alone, you’ll walk alone forever, but if you walk with your college sweetheart, you’re cemented together for life.
And I avoid it like the plague.
The guy grips her hand in his, and the girl nods before he stands and hauls him to her while she squeals in his arms.
“I think it’s sweet,” the girl next to me says shouldering her purse and clapping along with the rest of the gathered crowd.
True love exists. I’m a believer in it, but maybe just not for the women in my family.
We’re too loud, independent, and opinionated.
Or maybe I’m hangry.
“Better them than me,” I say before turning on my heel and slamming into a talking rock.
“Couldn’t agree more.” Large, muscular hands are the only thing keeping me from sprawling into the asphalt.
“Sorry,” I say before looking up…into the sun. Squinting, I see thick lips, brilliant straight teeth, and amused bright-blue eyes. “Sorry,” I repeat as he comes into view shielding the blinding light with his massive presence. Rusty blond hair, unbelievable build, a killer smile. My reaction is immediate. “Nope,” I say, sidestepping him.
“Nope?” He asks with a chuckle. I’m another step away when I realize he hasn’t unhanded me.
“That arm belongs to me,” I say softly, eyes trained on my boots.
Don’t look up. DO. NOT. LOOK. UP.
My eyes lift on their own accord, well technically it’s my evil self-sabotaging Va-Gina.
Damnit, Gina!
A feeling I’m all too familiar with spreads through me as I drink him in. I may be on the wagon, but I can still appreciate the perfect male specimen.
Poison Ivy is pretty too, Gina, we’re done here.
“All yours,” he says, hesitantly taking his hands away.
Don’t linger. Do not linger. Don’t give him an opening. But they’re there, the butterflies are flapping away ready to take flight…as I linger.
“Thanks for saving me a trip,” I reply evenly.
“Anytime.”
“Good day,” I say with a ridiculous little curtsey before skittering off, determined.
Two steps. Three. Four.
And then he sounds up next to me. “Do you mind telling me what that nope was about?”
“Just an inside joke between me, and…me.” I’m walking ridiculously fast while he’s breathing easy, his long legs keeping up with me in perfect time.
“You’re bruising me here, beautiful. Did that nope, mean I’m not your type?”
“Exactly.”
“Ouch.”
“I’m sure a…ego of your size can handle it.”
“I’m not so sure, it’s leading me in the direction away from class.”
“Better switch lanes then, don’t want to be late.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“What if I’m right?”
Flustered, I bring my eyes to his. And have a Pretty Woman ‘Big mistake, huge’, moment. Thinking fast, I pause as if I feel a vibration, pull my phone from my bag, and fake take a call.
“Sorry, I gotta take this,” I look to see he’s not buying it, at all, but he stops his chase stuffing his hands into his jeans. His eyes roam over me, leaving me a hot mess on the sidewalk. “Shame,” he says through disgustingly perfect lips before he gives me a curt nod and changes direction.
I speak to Gina on my fake call. “This round goes to me, bitch.”
Safely inside my truck, I shoot off a text to Theo to see what he’s up to. He’s had practice or some obligation or another every day, and I haven’t been able to catch him since we met up on Monday. If my intuition serves me correctly, I suspect he’s hiding from our project, and if that’s the case, I’m screwed.
Laney: We have seven hundred followers.
Theo: You. You have seven hundred followers.
Laney: Fine. I have them. What are you doing?
Theo: Working on something.
Laney: Vague much?
Theo: Hard to explain.
Laney: Then show me.
Theo: Sometime, maybe.
Laney: I have to earn this privilege?
Theo: Yes.
Laney: Fine. Pencil me in tomorrow night.
Theo: For?
Laney: Something.
Theo: ^^ I see what you did there.
Laney: Annoying, isn’t it?
Theo
The bonfire. I should have known. Dread course
s through me as Laney circles the rows of cars looking for a spot to park her death trap. I swear the thing has a smoker’s rattle. We manage to find a space a football field away from the party. Once parked, she turns on the cabin light and produces a flask from her purse.
“What’s that for?”
“Icebreaker.” She explains, taking a sip before passing it to me. I eye it with caution. “Don’t be such a prude. I met you intoxicated.”
“True.” I take the flask and flinch at the burn as it goes down. “This isn’t rum.”
“Whiskey,” she says, taking another pull. “It’ll put some hair on our chests.”
“Easy girl,” I chide.
“I measured out only three shots. Just a little something to take the edge off.”
That’s when I see it, the uneasiness.
“You’re nervous?”
“A little.”
“You can’t be serious. You’re the most outspoken person I’ve ever met.”
“Really large crowds give me anxiety.”
“Is that why you don’t attend many games?”
“Partly.”
“Huh. You’re a walking contradiction.”
“It’s not a big deal. I just get a little nervous.” She pauses, the flask halfway to her lips. “You know I didn’t get my first smartphone until I was fifteen. And I wasn’t allowed to watch too much mainstream anything.”
“Really?”
“My God, the catching up I had to do. I think that’s why I find PR so fascinating. For years I felt out of the loop. I mean it wasn’t so bad, it’s not like we had dial-up or I got a ruler snapped on my hand or anything like that.” She presses her brows together. “Momma and Gran, they just raised me their way. The old-fashioned way, I guess.”
I don’t bother to ask about her father because I know that relationship is rocky.
“Doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Not at all,” she grins. “But in my house, Sunday is still meant for morning church, and gatherings for big meals with family and friends.”
“In my house, Sunday was meant for shopping for my mom and sisters while Dad and I binge-watched TV because it was the only time it belonged to us.”
“Gran used to say don’t buy it, make it. That shit could get a little embarrassing.” She hands me the flask. “So, you ever been to one?” She nods toward the party.
“Last time I was here, I lost my girlfriend, and she tripped and fell into someone else’s bed.”
“Shit, at the bonfire?”
“Yeah.”
“Look,” she says softly, “we can leave. It doesn’t mean shit to me to be here.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Social experiment?”
“Ah, the project.”
“Not necessarily. Do you want to go?”
She’s sincere with her offer to leave, but I look out at the roaring two-story tall fire and shake my head. “We can stay.”
She eyes the bonfire and looks back to me. “Nah, I’ve got a better idea.” Briefly scanning the parking lot, she pulls up her phone, flipping through a few notebook apps before skimming a list of pictures. Seeming satisfied, she releases the parking brake and we start a slow creep through the endless lines of cars.
“Laney?”
“Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
“We,” she motions between us, “we’re in this one together.”
“And this is?”
“Shhhh, I’m trying to concentrate.”
After a few minutes, she comes to a slow stop in front of a Volvo.
“Bingo.”
“What are you doing?”
She holds up a finger and is already dialing. “Hey, Greg. I’m at the bonfire on County Road. You busy? Okay, cool, bring your truck, hell, bring three. We’re about to clean up.”
She ends the call and hops out with her phone in hand before shining her flashlight through the windshield of the Volvo. She comes back to the truck wearing a satisfied grin.
“Now, we wait.”
“For?”
“Gotta leave something to mystery,” she taunts before we again start circling the sea of cars.
“What are you hoping to find?”
“Houseman, you’re getting worse than me,” she scorns while carefully circling the lot and checking her phone every few seconds. Ten minutes later, Laney looks up in her rearview and throws a finger out the window at the car we’ve been blocking for the last ten minutes. I look back to see a tow truck glide in and hook the car up.
“You got someone towed?”
She rubs her hands together with glee. “I’d like to think we’re in the business of good deeds tonight. No one leaves this thing sober. We’re saving them from a worse fate.”
She continues a slow perusal of the parking lot, jumping out and shining her cell phone light into windshields before jumping back in the truck and pointing them out for the tow truck shadowing us.
“Okay, I’m lost. What in the hell is going on?”
“I told you, we’re doing a public service.”
“Uh huh.”
“Hey, a girl’s gotta make a living any way she can, and I’m so broke right now I can’t afford to pay attention.”
“And you’re making money by pointing at cars?”
“I’m a detective of sorts.” She slams on the brakes just as we pass a cherry red Toyota. “Oh my God. I’ve been looking for this one for two months! This idiot will never learn. It’s the bumper sticker that gives it away.” She turns to me. “Get in the driver’s seat, and when I punch it, you better punch it too. Don’t lose me.”
“What?”
She hops out as I yell out after her. “Laney, I can’t drive this! Where in the hell are you going?”
“Don’t forget the parking brake!” she shouts over the Toyota’s alarm. “You have to use it, or it’ll roll.”
And then she’s in the car, seconds later the taillights are glowing red. She shoots out in the parking lot with crazy insane reverse skills kicking rocks all over her own truck, a maniacal laugh coming out of her! “Hell, yes! Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Stay close to my tail, Houseman!”
“You’re stealing a fucking car?”
“Best hurry up, this heifer keeps a roscoe in her purse!”
“What’s a roscoe?”
“A gun. Last time she shot at me.” She tears off, and I floor the gas to her hooptie and am thrown forward with the stall before the ancient artifact finally picks up speed, my chest up against a steering wheel that feels like it may come off any second. Laney motors ahead going warp speed as I scream like a girl when I hit my first pothole. I white-knuckle the wheel, terrified that by the time I get to her I’ll be left with nothing but bald tires. Ten, excruciatingly long minutes later we make it into town, and she pulls into the parking lot of a gas station before prancing back over toward me doing a victory dance.
“Had a hotkey for that one!” She exclaims, taking back the driver’s seat as I slide over.
“Laney, what the hell? You chop cars?”
She raises a finger and puts the phone on speaker.
“Polk County non-emergency.”
“This is Laney Cox with Mueller’s Wrecker.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m calling to advise you of four repossessions from County Road.”
“That’s the bonfire, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We’ve already gotten one call for a stolen vehicle.”
Laney reads off the VIN numbers, makes and models of all the cars that she got towed and ends the call.
“You repo cars?”
“Yep.” She tilts her head. “Well, kind of. I don’t drive the trucks, but I get a finder’s fee for each car I spot. By not attending the bonfire, I just made six hundred bucks.”
“A hundred and fifty a car?”
“Yep. Sometimes more, if the bank is close to charging it off.”
“Not
bad. But you’ve been shot at?”
“Only by that crazy cow.”
“And this is just, I don’t know, normal, to you?” I spit sarcastically.
“Course not, but no one is shooting at us now. This is just business, Houseman. And no one is broker than college students. I used to feel guilty for it, but I tell you, some of the excuses are bullshit, and I’ve heard them all. I like to think I now have a heavy hand in teaching them a little responsibility. And it’s an adrenaline rush, isn’t it?”
“Not much of a fan of gunshot adrenaline.”
“You get used to it.”
“Pretty sure I wouldn’t.”
The tow truck pulls up, and a guy around our age saunters over with a grin.
“Good job, Laney.”
“Greg, don’t you dare give her car back.”
“We’ll have to drop it if she pays,” he says, squinting at me sitting next to her before turning back to Laney. “Who’s this?”
“Theo, and he’s not a fan of our profession.”
“No?” He gives me a look I’m all too familiar with. It’s called ‘you’re a pussy,’ and I immediately hate him. But even more so for the way he’s feasting on Laney like a wolf licking his chops.
“Well, I’ll text you what happens.”
Laney nods. “At least make her sweat a little.”
“For you, I will. Night.” His accent is as thick as hers.
“Yeah, got to get back and tend to dem sheeps,” I mutter.
“Hey, he’s a good guy. And you shouldn’t stereotype.”
“He did the minute he saw me. He called me a pussy.”
“He did not!”
“It was in the look he gave me because of your roundabout comment.”
“Well, you didn’t like it.”
“I got no warning, and you know you made that shit seem shady just to mess with me because you’re a pint-sized terrorist in boots. And I’ll have you know I like plenty of other manly things that don’t involve live ammunition. I assure you I have a dick.” And it’s bigger than Troy’s. Sometimes life balances the scales for you. But right now, I sound like more of a pussy for defending myself.
Awesome.
“Alright, Mr. Cocky, I feel like you need a slice of humble pie. Care to put your man skills to the test?”
The Underdogs: The Complete Series Page 8
