“It’s not for a book.”
“Wait, what?” she asks.
“It’s not for a book. It’s for me.”
“This is actually happening to you?”
“Yes.”
“Like in real life?”
“Yes, Hannah! And I like him way more than just a friend so can you keep up, please? I’m in crisis mode, and I’m not sure what to do!”
“Besides bone him every chance you get?”
“Yeah. I mean…I’m kind of avoiding him this week to sort of play it cool, so he doesn’t catch on that I like him.”
“Which you do.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want him to know that!”
“Listen to me,” she states, and I swear I hear her laptop close. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go camping.”
“Camping?” I repeat.
“Camping.”
“Why?”
“Cuz blue collar guys love that shit. Tell him it’s for book research, and you need his help.”
“Oh! That’s good because I already used that excuse!”
“Perfect. I can see this playing out like a damn movie, and you know when I plot, and they play out like movies, it’s a best seller.”
“Yes!” I squeal excitedly, sitting up because now I’m too anxious to lie down.
Her voice gets mock high, like a Marilyn Monroe impression. “You’re going to be adorable and fumbling and not know how to cast a fishing pole, and he’s going to realize how much fun it is to go camping and get to fuck in a tent.” She shifts her tone to hard butch at the end, and I’m literally clutching my belly from laughing so hard.
“Oh my God, this sounds good.”
“But make him sweat it out for a while before you call him. When was the last time you slept with him?”
“Two days ago.”
“Perfect. Wait a few more days. Make him wonder for a whole week what you’re doing. It’ll drive him mad. Then when you do see him, play it super cool. Like you’re just one of the guys.”
“That sounds really good.”
“See? Book ideas can apply in the real world.”
“You’re a genius, Hannah,” I state, sitting up and looking around the empty room. Now’s as good a time as any to redecorate. “I’m going camping!”
“Let me know where to have the pizza delivered to.”
“Ha-ha. Bitch.”
“Dude, you are so screwed,” Sam says, catching me totally off guard as I stare out the shop window into the alley.
“Jesus, fucker, warn a guy!” I exclaim, pressing my hand to my chest as I feel my heart rate pounding. “Why are you walking so softly?”
“I wasn’t walking softly.” He frowns down at his feet.
“Yeah, you were,” I growl, tossing my impact wrench into my toolbox. “I didn’t hear you because you tiptoed over to my station like a creep.”
“I wasn’t tiptoeing, moron. I was walking like a human. You’ve just been in your own little world all week, peeping out the window like a lovestruck teenager. If anyone’s the creep, it’s you.”
I roll my eyes and have to fight the urge not to look out the window again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mercedes. It’s become a habit I don’t even realize I’m doing anymore. Possibly even worse than licorice smoking.
It’s been a week since her party, and I’m growing more and more frustrated by the fact she hasn’t returned to Tire Depot to write. Or called me.
“I thought you said it was casual,” Sam states, propping down on a metal shop stool and cranking the empty vise grip.
“It is. I’m not obsessing. I’m just…wondering why she hasn’t come back. I probably fucked this up.”
“Fucked what up exactly? You said you don’t want anything more than casual with her.”
“I want friendship,” I reply through clenched teeth as I unzip my coveralls and step out of them. “I like her as a friend. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. She’s always saying something that surprises me, and she’s really fucking cool in an unfiltered, real sort of way. She’s cooler than you, that’s for damn sure.”
Sam clutches his chest at my burn. “So why don’t you want more than friendship with someone that cool?”
“You know why,” I nearly growl and then hear my phone chirp from the workshop bench. My nerves spike as I swipe my screen to unlock it, replying to Sam quickly, “I can’t get wrapped up in drama again.”
“Not all drama is bad,” Sam mumbles as I stare down at my screen.
Mercedes: Want to help me with some book research? ;）
Me: Yes.
Mercedes: Jeez. What if I said it involves sex with an animal or inanimate object or something?
Me: Does it?
Mercedes: No
Me: Then yes.
Mercedes: Okay, can you come over tonight?
Me: Yep.
Mercedes: Cool, bring beer and pizza.
Me: Done.
Mercedes: And bring those book boyfriend arms. ;）
I’m smiling like a fucking goofball when I remember Sam’s still sitting right in front of me. I look up and roll my eyes at his grim expression. “Let me hear it.”
He cups his hands to his mouth and booms. “You are screwed!”
Pulling up to Mercedes’s house, I feel nerves like I’ve never felt before. When I came to her place for her party last week, I had no expectations of the night. What happened between us wasn’t planned. I had a feeling something might happen, but that’s a hell of a lot different than sitting outside a girl’s house and knowing when you walk inside, you’re going to get laid. This feeling is equal parts thrilling and nerve-wracking.
Stop being a pansy, Miles.
I grab the pizza and beer off the seat of my truck and make my way to her front door. When she opens it, I remember exactly why I was so nervous tonight.
This girl is way too fucking hot for me.
She’s dressed in a flirty little dark blue sundress with big pink flowers all over it. Her red hair is straight again, like that night at the bar when we first kissed. She’s kept her makeup light, but her lashes are long and framing her blue eyes beautifully. Her lips are shiny with a pink gloss that makes me want to lean in and—
“Hey, bro!” she barks, punching me in the shoulder.
I frown and pull back. “Hey?” I say it in question because I’m not sure why she addressed me like that.
She reaches out and grabs the beer. “Thanks for bringing the brewskies.” She turns on her heel and gestures for me to come in as she sets the beer down on her coffee table. She strides over and grabs the pizza box from me next. “I’m so hungry I could eat the ass end out of a dead rhino.”
“Are you having a stroke?” I deadpan because seriously, what the fuck is going on here?
“What do you mean?” she chirps, her eyes wide as she clutches the pizza box.
“Why are you talking like this?”
“This is my casual voice.”
My face screws up in disbelief. “I’ve heard your casual voice, and it usually consists of waxing poetic about complimentary coffee and cookies. Tell me what you’re doing.”