I texted Greta that I was on my way and nerves zinged through me.What the fuck? Why am I nervous?It was breakfast. We got breakfast all the damn time. I parked, the walk up the stairs slow and torturous. I knocked, putting my hands in my jean pockets after.
Greta opened the door, smiling widely. “Hey, boy-toy. Where are you taking me for our lavish breakfast date?”
“IHOP.” I took her hand, her vanilla lotion subtle. It smelled amazing.
“Hmm. Am I too overdressed? You’re rocking the skater look again.” She motioned at my jeans and black v-neck. I checked out her outfit and admired her long, never-ending legs. She always wore dresses, so I wouldn’t have considered it overdressed.
“You look great.” I pulled her down the stairs and opened the passenger door for her. “You always look good, G.”
“Aw, thanks, pookie.”
“Pookie?” I paused, giving her an irritated glare. “Hell, no.”
“I’m trying out nicknames. I would have a nickname if you were my boyfriend.” She raised her eyebrows, making me feel like a dumbass.
“You already call me A-a-ron and Ronnie. Those are nicknames.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” She chuckled. “Friend nicknames. I wouldn’t be calling my sex toy Ronnie. It is the least sexy name alive.”
I frowned. It was unsexy. “Fair enough. But Pookie isn’t it.”
“Then back to the drawing board. Stop stalling. Mama needs some pancakes.” She patted her belly and pushed me out of the way. She then shut the door in my face. I laughed. God, it felt good.
I slid into the driver seat and saw her studying me with one lip sucked into her mouth. “What?”
“Just being honest here, but it literally looks like you have a stick shoved up your ass. No one is going to believe this is real.” She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Nope. Major stick in the ass face going on.”
“That isn’t a thing.” I started the car, but she put her hand on my leg. I looked at it, taking my time turning toward her again.
“Ronnie, you need some fun in your life. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I said without question. “Why?”
“Let me drive. I have an idea.” She stuck out her lip, pouting. Those damn brown eyes didn’t help either. I was pretty much ruining her life for six months so, sure, I could let her do whatever the fuck she wanted.
“Okay.” I undid my buckle and traded spots with her. “What’s your idea?”
“Um, first. What the hell? You’ve never agreed to let me drive your car in over two years. You must have a big stick up there, messing with your brain.” She clapped her hands. “Second, I’m fucking pumped to drive your SUV. I love it.”
“Don’t crash it. I’ll kill you.”
“Nah. You won’t. You need me alive for six months.”
“And not a day longer,” I joked, earning a huge smile from her. “What? I can joke around.”
“I’ve missed your dumbass jokes and sarcasm. Do you have anywhere you need to be today?”
“Nope. Off weekend. Coach meets with the director at noon. He’ll call when he has news.”
“Perfect. I know how to distract you.” She put the car into drive and took off down one of the country roads. If she headed back to the biker bar, I didn’t know what the hell I would do. She turned on the radio, an old rap song coming on. She rapped with the beat. Every. Single. Word.
I watched, amused at how her hands made aggressive motions while she sang. She held up an imaginary microphone to me at one of the more famous parts and her ‘stick up the ass’ comment caused me to join her. I rapped with Snoop Dog at nine in the morning in the middle of the country.
If that didn’t describe Greta, nothing did. I chuckled, and the car jerked to the left a little. “Use two hands, Gabs.”
“Well, forgive me. I heard you laugh and it startled me. I forgot how it sounded.”
“God, you’re a pain in the ass.” I found myself smiling. It felt weird at first, but it became easier the longer we were in the car. We played the ‘would you rather’ game, and her questions got weird, real fast.
