“This sure is a nice truck.” The blonde who had been sitting on Ian's tailgate was now sitting in the front seat of Gracie's Chevy, stroking the leather interior in an almost sexual manner.
“You're right. It is.” Gracie kept both hands on the wheel and focused on the road ahead. Katie hadn't had room in the truck for herself, Ian and his obnoxious new friends. Trish was entirely too nice to deal with scum like Lowery. Gracie had volunteered to take one for the team and drive Angie and Lowery back to Canterville. She was regretting every mile of the trip. Neither one of her new companions smelled like they knew what a shower was.
“Must have been expensive.”
“It was.”
“You must have plenty of money to afford a truck like this. Or did you fuck your way into a sixty thousand dollar truck?” Lowery leered over her shoulder from the backseat.
“You want to walk home?” Gracie snapped at him.
Lowery sat back. “Touchy, touchy.”
“Don't piss her off, Lowery. We're still twenty miles from town. I ain't sober enough to walk half that far without passing out. I don't want to sleep on the side of no highway and my phone is out of minutes.”
“You're more than welcome to borrow my phone if you have someone else who can come get you,” Gracie offered with a smile that was mostly a baring of teeth. “I'd be more than happy to meet them half way. Or leave y'all here for them to pick up.”
“Ian sure wasn't kidding about you, was he?”
“Depends, what did he say?”
“He said you were an ice cold bitch.”
Gracie was momentarily taken aback. She'd known Ian for most of her life and she'd always considered him a friend. Not her best or brightest friend, but a friend. He was David's cousin. He'd grown up just down the street from Cal. He'd married her best friend. Heck, she'd been in his wedding and Cal had nearly asked him to be one of his best men, despite the recent drama. “Ian called me an ice cold bitch?”
“He said that you was a fucking Ice Princess. He warned me not to fuck with you. Said you'd probably shoot my dick off. He says your old man is pussy whipped as a limp cock.”
Gracie hit the brakes on the truck and pulled it onto the shoulder of the road.
“Dammit Lowery.” Angie let out an unhappy sigh as the Chevy's brakes barked on the pavement.
“Get out,” Gracie said.
“Aww, hell no. Fuck you. You ain't leaving us out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“Watch me.”
“Both of us?” Angie whined.
Gracie hesitated. The girl hadn't actually said anything out of the way to her. Lowery, on the other hand, had to go. “Get him out of my truck.”
“Screw you, bitch!” Lowery breathed down Gracie's neck. “You want me out of your truck, make me get out.”
Gracie sighed and slid her hand down the underside of the steering column. Cal had put a concealed handgun holster just under the driver's side dashboard. At the time, Gracie had thought it was pretty serious overkill. Now, as she slid the 9mm Glock out from under the dash, she was decidedly glad the weapon was there. She cocked the gun, twisted around in her seat and raised it up so that Lowery was leering straight down the barrel. “Give me a reason to ruin this pretty leather interior,” she told him.
Lowery's ruddy tan turned a sickly green.
“Oh shit,” Angie whispered.
“Get the fuck out of my truck,” Gracie said.
“You're a psycho bitch.” Lowery held his head up and glared angrily at Gracie through rheumy eyes. His gaze never left hers as he opened the door of the Chevy and stumbled out of the lifted truck.
“Shut my door,” Gracie told him.
“Fuck you, whore.” Lowery slammed the door shut.
Gracie quickly dropped the gun into her lap and hit the door locks. She cast a sideways glance at Angie. “You staying or you going?”
“You gonna shoot me?” Angie asked with wide eyes.
“You going to call me a whore?”
“No.”
“Then probably not.”
Lowery was yelling obscenities from outside the truck. Gracie slipped the gearshift into drive and hit the accelerator hard. The truck squalled tires pulling away. Lowery threw something at the Chevy that hit the side with a heavy thump.
Gracie's heart was pounding in her chest as Lowery faded away in the rear view mirror.
“He doesn't know what he's saying or doing when he drinks,” Angie offered. “I'm really sorry about how he was acting.”
“I don't care about him,” Gracie said. “I'd rather talk about you.”
“Me?” Angie eyed her warily.
“Yes, you. You were flirting with my bestie's husband earlier tonight. I want to know what's going on between you and Ian. If you want to stay in this truck, then you're fixing to tell me everything.”
“Oh gosh,” Angie whined. “Ian's cute and all but I ain't done nothing with him. I may flirt but I don't do married.”
“Swear it?”
“On my life. I ain't promising you that he ain't thinking about cheating on her or that he ain't done it, but he ain't done it with me.” She sloppily crossed her heart with her right hand. Her t-shirt had a faded pink heart printed on the center of it along with the word 'princess'. It was more than a little bit pathetic.
Of course, this entire situation was kind of pathetic. Gracie hoped like hell that Angie was telling the truth about sleeping with Ian. They'd looked way too friendly earlier in the night. Gracie didn't want to be the one to break it to Katie that the love of her life, the guy she'd always put above anyone else, was cheating on her less than three months after the birth of their daughter.
“If Ian is cheating on Katie, I absolutely will shoot his sorry little micro-weenie straight off the top of his balls.” Gracie announced to no one in particular.
Angie shuddered in the passengers seat. Other than giving directions, she stayed quiet the rest of the drive to Canterville.