“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Just make sure you—”
And then he kissed me.
Chapter 11
The GPS In My Prius Wants To Murder Me
“YOU laid out and watched the stars and then he kissed you?” Sandy asked as we drove in my car the next day. “I love it, but I also think I threw up a little bit in my mouth. And got cavities from all the sweetness. And then threw up again just to say I did. It’s precious, like I expect a crack whore with a heart of gold would be.”
“Thank you for that ringing endorsement,” I said, trying not to get mad at the GPS on my dashboard that was trying to convince me to drive off the road and into a ditch. For some reason, my GPS (appropriately nicknamed That Damn Bitch) hated me and tended to get more sarcastic when it had to recalculate. I’m not joking either. There’s nothing like hearing the female robotic voice say “Recalculating… recalculating,” when you can also hear the implied “dumbass” you just know she wants to say.
“Turn left in thirty feet,” That Damn Bitch said.
“We’re on a bridge!” I scowled at her.
“I think you’re the only person in the world that has a homicidal GPS,” Sandy observed. “What the hell did you do to That Damn Bitch to make her hate you?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I said, slightly offended. “She came with the car and she was already pissed off when I got it. I try not to use her that much, but I don’t know where the fuck this stupid bike shop is. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the bike-riding type.”
“Recalculating,” That Damn Bitch snapped at me.
“Fuck off,” I told her.
“What happens when you and Vince get married and he wants to go on a bike-riding tour of Asia for your honeymoon?” Sandy asked.
I glared at him. “Do I even need to tell you how many things are wrong with what you just said? I’m going to anyway. At least sixteen things.”
Sandy laughed. “You say that now, but I bet if this were a movie, there’d be an ironic flash cut one year into the future that would show you huffing and puffing up a hill on a bike in the Hainan Province in China wearing an ‘I just got husband-fucked grin’ on your face while Vince is riding ahead of you screaming about how much he loves you and Asia.”
“None of what you said is going to be a real thing,” I assured him. “And I wouldn’t huff and puff. I’d be riding the bicycle magnificently. Wearing a kimono that would flow gently in the breeze.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. And kimonos are Japanese.”
I waved my hand in dismissal. “It’s all Asia.”
Sandy stared at me. “Oh my God, you’re already starting to talk like him.”
Crap. “Shut up.”
“Paul’s got a boyfriend,” he sang.
I blushed, unable to stop myself.
“You have arrived at your destination,” That Damn Bitch said.
“We’re in the middle of the freeway!” I shouted at her.
“Recalculating,” she growled.
“She just wanted us to stop so we’d get hit by a tractor-trailer,” I muttered.
“Maybe you should see if your psychic ex-boyfriend knows any mediums so we can see if your car is haunted too.”
“Ugh, like the period ghost took over my GPS? I’m not going to put a tampon in the tailpipe. I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t be good for the ozone. Might have one of Vince’s nocturnal emissions.”