“What are you doing?” Sidney says.
“Pop the trunk.”
She leans her hip against the car and crosses her arms. “Not until you tell me what’s in the bag.”
“I’ll tell you in the car,” I say, and hear the trunk click and pop.
“Well?” We’re a mile down the road when Sidney finally presses me on the contraband in her trunk. “Am I helping you hide a body or something?”
“Why, do you have experience in that? Have a checklist you need to go back for?”
She gives a little grunt of annoyance. “Please, as if I’d keep any evidence of that,” she says softly.
“I need you to drop me off at the Laundromat.”
“Why?”
“Because I hear they have the best breakfast in town.” I roll my eyes. “What do peopleusuallydo at Laundromats?”
“Doesn’t your dad do laundry on Tuesdays?”
“Just drop me off, Sidney.”
She drums her fingers softly against the steering wheel. “Did you… have anaccidentor something?” Sidney is barely controlling herself. She sounds like she’s about to break into laughter at any moment. Her shoulders are shaking gently.
“What did youdo? Put my hand in warm water or something? Jesus, Sidney.”
“Settle down.” She sounds defensive. “You seriously thought youpeedthe bed?”
“What the hell was I supposed to think when I woke up in a wet bed?”
Sidney shakes her head and rolls her eyes. I think she muttersboys. “Youobviouslynever babysat. Pee has a… very distinct smell.”
“Well excuse me for not sniffing the sheets I thought I peed on. I was a little distracted by the fact that I thought Ipeed the bed!”
“Wow, you are a drama llama this morning,” Sidney mutters.
I had fully expected drama today, but this isn’t what I hadin mind at all. We drive the rest of the way in silence. When we pull into the parking lot in front of the Laundromat, Sidney unlocks the doors.
“What are you doing?”
“Dropping you off,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Sounds like I don’t need to be here,” I say, annoyed. Not that I want to run with her, but at least I could just sit somewhere for an hour.
“You still need to wash them,” she says. “They’re going to be sticky.”
“From?” I practically growl it at her. I am so not in the mood this morning.
“Lemonade,” she says, trying her best to contain the smile working at the corners of her mouth. “Yourfavorite, if I remember correctly.”
I slam the door and yank my bag out of the trunk. Apparently I’m spending my hour at the Laundromat.
“How much do you hate me right now?” she yells out the open window as she pulls away.
Sidney
Asher probably kisses anyone when he’s drunk. Maybe everyone. I bet his standards are super low under regular circumstances, so what can I expect from him when he’s trashed? Obviously Ican’texpect him not to kiss his arch enemy. Though that seems like the least you could expect of any guy who isn’t currently starring in a Bond movie. So what’smyexcuse? Shock? Retaliation for that stunt he pulled in the lake? Ihadjust woken up. Maybe I thought it was a dream.
