Since I hadn’t needed to check a suitcase, it didn’t take us long to reach the parking garage and cram ourselves into her tiny Miata. I’d landed early afternoon, so as long as there weren’t any hiccups with the truck rental or packing up her stuff, we were looking good to put some miles behind us before it got dark.
“So…” she started, merging onto the highway, and I already knew where this conversation was going to head. “Meet any hot guys lately? Maybe a new guard at work, or a nice, scruffy gas station attendant?”
I rolled my eyes. Layla had been on me for years now about getting back out there. She knew me well enough to know I was lonely, but she also knew me well enough to know I had neither the time, nor the desire, to date.
In my experience, there were only four things the human male species was accomplished at: donating sperm, exaggerating the number of recipients they’d donated to, bragging about where the sperm was deposited, and disappearing the moment said deposit did its intended purpose.
I told her as much.
“You’re too young to be so damn cynical, Mads.”
I bristled at her disapproving tone. “It’s the truth and you know it. And that’s with me not even mentioning male number two who came after that.”
“You’re seriously the most pessimistic person I’ve ever met.”
I puckered my lips, pretending to consider it, then shrugged and nodded my head. She was right, I was pessimistic as hell. Life had made sure of it.
“Speaking of male number two…when was the last time you called him?”
My entire body tensed, her words triggering my fight or flight response. And since there was no safe way to fly, I went with the first choice.
“Why would I call him?” I demanded, “I haven’t called him since the day the divorce was finalized.”
She darted her gaze at me, her eyes narrowing and lips curving down. “And when was the last time he called you?”
“Does it matter?”
“That recently, huh? What a fucking asshat. Seriously, I hope someone takes a shit in his exhaust pipe.”
I sighed, reaching up to rub my temples. It was too early in the trip to already be touching on sore subjects. “He’s called me a few times, but it’s always random and spaced out.” I paused, clasping my hands in my lap. “He called last week, late evening. Don’t give me that look, I didn’t answer.”
“Good. I’d fucking castrate you if you did. He was probably drunk.”
I nodded in agreement, but internally flinched. Her statement wasn’t meant to sting, but it did all the same. When we were together, Aaron had only cared about me when he was sober. Once we separated, he only cared when he was drunk.
A half-hour later, we were driving onto the gravel parking lot of a…company? Where in the hell were we? “Layla, are you sure this is the right place? It’s kinda shady looking.”
“Yeah, this is the address the guy gave me, and look, there’s the moving truck and car trailer parked over there.” She turned off her Miata, but neither of us moved as we glanced around, the same look of apprehension on our faces.
“O—kay. Let’s get this over with then. Keep your key between your fingers.”
She pinned me with a side glare, shoving her door open and hopping out. But as we rounded the vehicle, I could see the key sticking out between her fisted fingers.
Two grimy men, some suspiciously wrinkled paperwork, and one hour later, we were gunning it out of the parking lot. “Okay, you were right, that place was shady as fuck,” she said.
I responded with an exaggerated, wide-eyed nod. It had been the right place, they’d had paperwork ready for us and everything, but it had been the most awkward experience I’d had in a while.