We get to the truck. “Here, JuneBug. Drive me home, please. I’ve got a massive headache. Stupid corn can girl made me trip over my own two feet.”
JuneBug shakes her head. “Huh-uh. Nope. I drank a little. I’m not risking a DUI by driving your truck.”
I sigh. “Fine. Let’s just walk. It’s not that far, anyway.”
We walk along in the cool night air. JuneBug throws her arm through mine. “Damn, girl! I can’t believe you. You don’t make ripples, you’re like a freaking tsunami First you get caught with the hottest guy in the school in a closet, and then you piss off the top cheerleader who happens to be his ex-girlfriend.” She laughs out loud. “Not to mention that killer cat fight. You totally blew up my Snapchat and Instagram.”
A tornado of worry swirls in my gut. “Seriously? You think so? That wasn’t my intention. Oliver just gets under my skin so fast. I mean, I went to the kitchen to get a drink and all of that just kind of happened.”
“Talk about being in the right place at the right time. Ho-ly crap! This is like the equivalent of stealing the best table in the lunchroom.”
JuneBug’s far-fetched analogy makes me smile. “Alright, alright. Chillax, JuneBug. I’m going home to get some rest. I’ve got a killer ache in my elbow and shoulder. And, I have to work tomorrow.”
JuneBug giggles and shakes her head. “Yeah, same here. See you later, Par-ty Queen.”
We walk up to my house. JuneBug puts on her helmet. She hops on her scooter and takes off. I slip inside. Mom sleeps on the couch while Pride and Prejudice lights up the screen. Keira Knightley proclaims her never-ending affection for Mark Darcy. It’s so romantic. Sometimes, it would be nice if life were more like the movies.
But I don’t know if a man who reads Tennyson by firelight would do it for me. I dream of a guy who prefers quilts under windows and hidden closets in kitchens. Who knew canned goods could be so sexy! My head hangs low, and I groan a little. There’s something really wrong with this brain of mine.
Visions of a warm bath to soothe my aching head tempt me, but so does the thought of savoring the scent of my Mudpie Mojo a little longer. I hold Oliver’s borrowed bandana close to my chest as I fall into bed, and smile at the thought of sneaking my truck out of there tomorrow.