“So how long before I can get back on the road?” Lawson asks.
“Probably a few weeks, depending on how long it takes to order in the parts since it’s a classic and all,” Bear says.
Lawson laces his hands behind his head. “Well, shit. I’m supposed to be in Colorado tomorrow night.”
I slap the side of his car, realization finally dawning. “Hold on, are you going to Cosy’s party?”
“The Mills birthday bash thing?”
“Yeah.”
“That was my plan until my car broke down.”
“I’m heading there now, so you might as well ride with me. Road trips are way more fun with a sidekick, anyway.”
Lawson nods his agreement. “Definitely way more fun.”
Looks like my trip to Colorado just got a whole lot more interesting.Another Detour
Lawson“I CANNOT BELIEVE I blew a tire. What the hell was that random piece of wood doing in the middle of the freaking road?” Nevah throws her hands in the air and kicks the deflated rubber. “I’m gonna have to put the spare on.”
“Can you drive all the way to Colorado Springs on a spare?” I have no idea, so it’s an honest question.
“Depends on the car. Most of the time you can go a hundred miles or so on a spare, but we’re a lot farther out than that, and I don’t really want to risk bending the frame on this baby.” She pats her car affectionately. “We’ll get the spare on and see how far we can go before we hit a garage.”
We’ve made it most of the way through Utah. Over the past several hours, I’ve learned a lot about Nevah.
As it turns out, we’ve attended more than one social gathering together. In fact, I’m fairly certain I had plans to hit on her while I was drunk, but my sister intervened before I could make a complete ass out of myself.
Truth be told, I’m not very good at the whole relationship thing. Or talking to women in general. I’m awesome at social media and creating a brand and flirting on line. I’m also adept at picking up women at bars because there isn’t a whole lot of talking involved. It’s not that I don’t want to have conversations with women; it’s more that my job is weird, my family is well known, and I’m slightly socially awkward—see the En Vogue comment for reference.
I now know that Nevah took public relations, business, and plumbing in college and decided none of them were the right fit. She’s always been fascinated with cars. While other girls were playing with Barbies, she was playing with Barbie’s corvette and spray-painting it black to make it cooler.
She learned how to jump-start a car when she was sixteen while hanging out with some less than savory characters, one of which happened to be Barry, aka Bear. She’s narrowly escaped a criminal record more than once, and has a long history of dating jerks. She didn’t go into much detail about that, other than to say most of the time she liked their cars better than she liked the guys who were driving them.
She pops the trunk and I move my suitcase out of the way. One of the dolls rolls out from under my shirt. It’s a brown-haired Amalie doll with a pretty sweet tan, wearing a two-piece halter tank that somewhat matches my current shirt.
She glances from me to the doll and back again.
“It’s not what you think,” I blurt, which obviously makes it sound like exactly what she thinks, even though I can’t be sure what exactly that is.
Grown men who tote around kids’ dolls incite a lot of questions.
She cocks a brow. “So you don’t have a doll with a bathing suit that matches your shirt in my trunk?”
“It’s the family business. Amalie dolls. I was in California working with a company that uses all recycled plastics and materials to make dolls and their clothes,” I explain.
“Amalie dolls? Holy crap! Amalie is your sister. Wow! I’m the slowest person ever. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection.” She picks up the plastic doll and hugs it to her chest. “I wanted one so bad when I was a kid, but my parents said they were too expensive.”
“You can have that one if you want.” I’m thankful that she knows what the fuck I’m talking about and doesn’t think I’m just some random weirdo with a doll fetish. I mean, I have a little too much fun posing them for photo shoots, but not in a creepy way, just in an if I have to pose dolls for photo shoots as a grown man, I might as well have some fun with it way.
“Oh no, I couldn’t. I’m way too old to play with dolls.” She continues to hug it and stroke its hair.
“Are you really, though?” I point to myself. “My job is to literally play with those dolls.” As soon as those words are out of my mouth, I wish I could stuff them back in with a hot fiery poker. Thankfully, she doesn’t mace me and run.