“Yeah, well, he’s also a dickheaded cheater. If you’re so in love with him, thenyoudate him and see what kind of boyfriend he is to you.”
I chuckle heartily. “Sorry. Josh, Henn, and I still follow UCLA sports religiously. Shawn Gordon is one of our favorites.”
She glares at me.
“But not anymore. Now, I hate him.”
She laughs.
“Continue. Please. You took all of his jerseys out of his closet, and...”
“I went outside to the barbeque set up at the back of Shawn’s apartment complex... and I burned them all!”
“Oooh. What a psycho,” I say sarcastically.
“Reed. I burnedallhis jerseys.”
“Yes. I heard you the first time. But I hate to tell you, that’s not batshit psycho. That’s just run-of-the-mill anger.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t told you the rest. Wait until you hear whatelseI did.”
“Can’t wait to find out.”
She bites her lower lip, relishing whatever she’s about to say. “There was a screwdriver sitting next to the barbeque, for some reason. And I picked it up, and marched straight to the parking structure, where Shawn’s beloved Jeep was parked. He was so proud of that thing. It was his version of a Bugatti.” She pauses for dramatic effect. “And I took that screwdriver and I punctured all four tires on his car!One puncture for each side chick!” She opens her mouth wide. As wide as it will go. As if to say,Can you believe it?
But I’m not the least bit impressed, and I’m sure my face shows it. “That’sit?” I say.
“What do you mean, ‘That’s it’? Reed, I gave his beloved carfourflat tires! Do you know how expensive tires are? And I made it so he’d have to replace theentireset, all at once!”
I can’t help laughing uproariously at her beautiful innocence in this moment. Her stunning beauty. I kiss her cheek, still laughing. “Oh my God, Georgie girl. I thought you were going to say you keyed the fucker’s car. Maybe scratched ‘liar’ onto his car doors.”
She looks utterly shocked at the suggestion. “Well, first of all, his Jeep didn’t really have doors. But, second of all, why would I do that? I could have gone to jailfor a very long time if I did something as serious as that. I think that would be a felony!”
I laugh again. “And here I thought you were such a badass.”
“I am.” She pouts. “I gave himfourflat tires and burnedthreejerseys. I was proud of myself for that.”
I laugh. “Well, yeah. I’m glad you didsomethingto the guy. He cheated on you withfourwomen. I’m just saying that was your chance to go full-on ‘Left Eye’ Lopes on the guy, and be perfectly justified. I’m just saying you didn’t really seize the opportunity as fully as you could have. That’s all.”
She looks up from her pouting. “Full-on ‘Left Eye’ Lopes? I’m sure it won’t shock you to learn I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I throw my head back. “No!”
She giggles. “Sorry.”
I return to her. “Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes. She was in TLC—the female R&B trio from the ‘90s.”
She grimaces. “Nope. Sorry.”
I drag my palm over my face. “Please, at least tell me you’ve heard of TLC?”
She shakes her head, so I sing the chorus of “Scrubs.” And when that elicits nothing, I switch to the chorus of “Waterfalls,” which, thankfully, she instantly recognizes.
“Ilovethat song,” she declares.
“Okay, well, the rap in the middle of that one was performed by Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopes.”
“Ooooh. Quick question. What’s the point of that song? When they say you shouldn’t chase waterfalls, are they saying you shouldn’t follow your dreams?”
