Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Everything about Margot seems to fascinate me. I can’t stop staring at her as we cross the parking lot to the multi-car garage. Three little shiny pins on her collar catch my attention but I can’t quite make out what they say while we’re walking. One looks like a red crab crawling out of a pot. Another is in the shape of a tiny pink dumpster? The third one’s the smallest, a black, red, and white square.
We stop in front of the garage and she hands me a car key on a ring with a yellow daisy ornament dangling from one end. I hesitate before accepting it. “You want me to drive?”
“I assume you know how.” She arches an eyebrow. “Since you drove me home the other night.”
“Funny girl.” The garage door in front of us rattles and starts rolling up, revealing the pristine yellow Thunderbird waiting in the bay. “I mean, you trust me to drive your fancy classic car? It’s in mint condition.”
She turns and tilts her head, staring up at me with a solemn expression that almost makes me wish I’d kept my mouth shut. “I’m planning to trust you with my body, so why wouldn’t I trust you with my car?”
Excellent point.
I’m not sure how to answer. Instead, I drop my gaze to the pins.
The little crab on one pin is holding up a say no to pot sign. I burst out laughing. “Clever. Did you already have the pot pin before the wedding?”
She lets out an endearing giggle. “No, I saw it after my experience with Sparky’s magic brownies, and thought it was perfect for my collection.” She tilts her head to the side and lowers her lashes. “I knew you’d be the only one who got the joke, so I had to wear it tonight.”
We already have inside jokes on our first date.
No. Not a date.
Moving on. The dumpster pin. Unsolicited Opinions from Random People. I let out a snort. “Amen to that.”
“You’d be surprised how many men at the car shows come up to lecture me about what I should or shouldn’t do with my car.”
“No, I wouldn’t be surprised at all.” I scoff, “The kinds of men who do that aren’t going to get the joke, though. Or they won’t realize it’s for them. They’re going to use reading the pin as an excuse to stare at your tits.”
She slaps her hand over her pins. “Ewww.”
Don’t worry. I’ll handle anyone who stares at you for too long tonight. I shrug, then lift my chin. “What’s the last one?”
She slowly removes her hand to reveal a tiny juice box with a poison apple on the front.
“I just thought it was cute.” She shrugs and shifts her gaze to the house. “My father asked me not to wear my hex the patriarchy and slay all day grim reaper pins since they might offend people who could be potential customers.”
“Your dad still approves your outfits?”
She tilts her head. “I took it as a suggestion. Not an order.”
All right then. As much as it rubs against all my personal instincts, I see the man’s point. Margot said the business is conservative. A grim reaper on the funeral director’s daughter—while funny as hell to someone like me—might be bad for business.
“Ready to go?” she asks.
“Let’s do it.” I don’t want to do anything to damage Margot’s pristine yellow convertible, but she asked me to drive, so I get behind the wheel and fire it up.
The Thunderbird purrs beneath my hands as I ease it out of the garage and onto the road. Margot’s quiet at first. I’m concentrating on not fucking up her car, so I don’t have much to offer.
“Thank you for coming with me,” she finally says. “I know motorcycles are more your thing.”
“I like cars. Well, classic cars. Interesting cars. Not the generic shit boxes everyone drives.”
She titters with laughter. “That’s why I always wanted this car. Something different. And the yellow is so sunny and pretty.” Her voice drops. “Opposite of the hearse.”
A laugh pops out and I cover it with a cough. “Yeah, you could say that.”
I find my way to Main Street; only a portion of it is blocked off for the car show.
“Drive right up to the cones.” Margot leans forward and points. “They’ll let us in.”
I slow the car as I approach. Two old men with reflective vests and clipboards wave us closer. I roll down my window.
A worried frown creases the forehead of the guy who approaches us.
He ducks down to peer in the window. “Margot, is that you?”
“Hi, Fred!” She leans forward and waves.
“Hey there.” He stares at me like I’m holding Margot at gunpoint in her own car.
I rest one arm on the sill and leave the other on the steering wheel. “Evening.”
“Are you rolling in to show tonight, Margot?” he asks.