She chuckles and shakes her head. “You’re something else, Lawson.” She straightens and grabs the edge of the hood. “So I have some good news and some bad news. Which would you like first?”
“I guess the bad?”
“All of your spark plugs are shot. I’m surprised this girl is running at all. You also have a crack in your radiator, and I think you’re leaking oil, but I’d have to get under her to be sure, and I don’t have the equipment to do that here.”
I rub the back of my neck again. “There’s some good news in there?”
“I have a friend about fifteen miles down the road in Utah who owns a garage. I can call a tow and we can take your girl there, see what can be done to get her back on the road.”
“Shit. Well, I guess that’s what I get for buying a car without having it safetied first.”
“How long ago did you buy it?”
“Yesterday. I took it for a spin and it ran just fine. I guess this explains why it seemed like a sweet deal.” I saw the car parked on some old man’s front lawn and couldn’t resist stopping. Within hours, I’d bought the car and left my rental behind.
“How long was the spin you took it for?”
“Twenty minutes, give or take.”
She glances at the California plates. “You drove that from California all the way here?”
“Yeah.”
“How far are you planning to go?”
“Long Island.”
Her eyebrows pop. “Did you tell the guy who sold you the car that you’re driving all the way across the country?”
“Uh, I didn’t really think it was relevant?” Although, I suppose I should’ve asked for more clarification, but it’s a cool car, and it seemed like a good deal. I also didn’t feel like spending hours at an airport when I could enjoy the open road instead. Two states later, and the road trip vibe is definitely wearing off.
“Right, okay. Well, I’m not sure you’re gonna make it that far without some serious surgery. I’ll call my friend, then?”
That’s not what I want to hear, but frying in the sun isn’t a viable option. “That’d be great, yeah, thanks.”
She digs her phone out of her back pocket, punches a bunch of buttons, and brings it to her ear. “Hey, Bear, how’s it going?”
She has a friend named Bear? I don’t know what to make of her, and I honestly wish I could figure out why I feel like I’ve met her before. It seems impossible what with her Nevada plates.
Two minutes later, she tosses her phone into her car. “My friend’s sending a tow out. Should be here in about twenty.”
“Great. Thanks a lot.” I swipe my arm across my forehead. I could really use a shower, or a pool, or some air conditioning.
After about thirty seconds of silence, in which we both look around uncomfortably, she thumbs over her shoulder. “You wanna sit in my car while we wait? I’m sweating my tits off, so I gotta imagine it can’t be all that nice for you either.”
“Uh, that’d be great. Thanks. I’m just gonna grab a bottle of water.”
“Good plan. It’s hot enough to fry a steak out here.”
I walk around the side of my car and lean over to grab the bottle of water I left in the center console. It has to be a full twenty degrees hotter inside the car than it is outside. “Fuck,” I mutter when I remember that there are freaking Amalie dolls strapped into the passenger seat.
My dad made an empire out of dolls that look like my younger sister. At least they started out looking like her. She’s essentially a much more proportional human version of a Barbie doll. Now they come with every conceivable hair color and skin tone possible.
You can have them made to look exactly like your kid. We have girl and boy dolls with customized clothing options. There’s even an interactive app. I’m in charge of the social media for the dolls, which means I spend a lot of time dressing them up and posing them for pictures.
It sounds pretty lame.
Which is why I dabble in real estate on the side. And buying classic cars on a whim. Based on how that’s going so far, I think I’ll stick with real estate.
I’m also aware that it looks really fucking weird to have a couple of dolls meant for six year olds riding shotgun in my car. I unbuckle the seat belt, toss them in the back, and shrug out of my super sweaty shirt. I grab my spare, which is draped over the back of the passenger seat, and the bottle of water.
I shrug into my dry shirt and fasten a single button. I can’t believe how freaking hot it is. It’s like living on the underside of a nut sack in a sauna.
My flip-flops slap the pavement, sticking a little with each step, as if they’re halfway to melting. I slide into the passenger seat of Nevah’s car and sigh when a blast of cold air hits my sweaty face and chest.
“Did the guy who sold you his car also sell you that shirt?” Nevah’s eyebrows lift above her sunglasses.
I run a hand down the patterned fabric. It’s an ocean blue Hawaiian print with penguins surfing waves. It’s meant to go with our Amalie Summer Beach campaign. The bright colors are eye-catching and do well in Instagram photos. “If I say no, are you going to make a comment about ransacking my grandfather’s closet?”
“I don’t have to anymore since you just did.” She grabs a water bottle from the backseat, unscrews the cap, and drains the entire thing in three long swallows.
“Wow. You must kick some serious ass at keg stand challenges.”
“It was probably my favorite subject in college, and
