Happily Ever After...For Me? (Won Camp NaNoWriMo July 2015)

9: He's an Evil Genius

Chapter 9

    "Right now?" He asks skeptically.

    "Aw, worried Uncle Mitch will chew you out?" I chide.

    "Yes," he answers right away.

    "Oh well," I say with a shrug as I walk pass him with a satisfied sway to my hips.

    Approximately ten steps later he calls, "That is if he knew. Fortunately, you wrote us some get out of jail free cards."

    I stop dead. Dammit. I forgot about the passes I wrote us. I can't exactly revoke my offer. I heave a sigh as he walks up beside me.

    "We have to take your car," he sings cockily.

    I huff out a breath and walk to the double doors at the side of the gym. We emerge into the parking lot and I lead the way to my Mustang. I unlock the doors and we both get in.

    "Can I drive?" He asks with a hopeful smile.

    "Are you crazy? No."

    "I have my license. Look," he says presenting the small plastic card he pulls from his wallet.

    "Why would I let you drive my car?"

    "One, everyone says you're filthy rich so if you get into an accident doctor bills and a new car won't even put a dent in your weekly allowance. Two, I got mine taken and I miss being behind the wheel. Three, I'm begging you, which never happens."

    I regard him for a while and don't answer. I just open my door and get out. He holds open the passenger door and bounces on his toes, waiting as I take my time. I slip into the passenger seat and he closes my door. He's a gentleman. I've give him that. Even Sam doesn't open doors for me anymore. Sam. What is he gonna do when he doesn't see me at lunch? Oh well, he's probably too angry with me to even care.

    He plops down into the driver's seat and exhales. "This is a beautiful car. How many cylinders?"

    "Eight," I answer immediately, affectionately patting the dash.

    He looks at me with a little more respect. "It's extremely sexist of you to look at me like that. Despite everything you think of me, I love my car. Dad used to talk about Mustangs all the time. He always said that there was nothing better than the sound of American muscle."

    I hold my breath and hope that he doesn't catch on to my use of the past tense. Why did I say that? What is he doing to me? No such luck. He asks, "Used to?"

    "Just start the damn car and lets go," I answer, ending the conversation before it can start.

    "Okay, I'll go first. I'm adopted," he says starting the car and revving the engine. If he does it again we might get caught, but I don't care. The sound is too sexy to care.

    He carefully puts the car in reverse and backs out of the parking spot. He shifts again and we're gone, on our way to God knows where. It feels good to just ride. I haven't done it in a while now. I've pretty much been a lone rider since I got my licence and car two years ago. It's funny how good it feels to just go where someone else is taking you and give another person the control.

    "Okay, so, mommy and daddy didn't want you. Next," I say meanly. I may seem okay with this, but I want to let him know that I have no intention of telling him anything about myself. Plus I want to prove that I am every bit a bitch I claim to be.

    "You won't scare me away. You know that right?" He asks looking over at me. He turns onto the highway and starts down the I10. I have no idea where we're going.