“I tried calling,” he starts. “You didn’t answer.”
“I have no idea where my phone is.”
I bend over, reaching my hands to the ground, well aware that Lewis now has an amazing view of my ass. He falls quiet, and I’m hoping he’s enjoying what he’s seeing.
When he clears his throat, I straighten back to him.
“What do you want?” I say, eyeing him. “I should warn you—I’m in a pretty shitty mood today.”
“Relax, Firebird. I’ve got something for you.”
I watch as he snakes a hand through his car window and pulls out a large black paper bag, and my heart skips a beat. He hands it to me, but I can’t think straight.
He shakes it at me insistently. “This is for you.”
I stand there with my mouth hanging open, my arms dangling by my sides, frozen in place. My mind has suddenly gone completely blank.
“This is the part where you give me this huge smile and say—‘Oh my God, Lewis! That issoincredibly sweet of you!’?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“If the smiling is a step too far, feel free to leave it out.”
“How about the ‘sweet’ thing?”
“And the ‘sweet’ thing.” He grins at me. “Come on—take it already! I know you’re getting hard for this.”
“Oh, please.”
“Don’t act all suspicious. I was at the mall, looking for something for Nancy…”
Who the hell is this Nancy bitch?
I must look really confused, or like I want to punch someone.
“Nancy is Adam’s mom,” he explains. “The guy with the Bel Air. Anyway, while I was there, I thought it would be a good time to pick up a little something to say thank you for my car.”
“Didn’t you already thank me?”
You know—right before you gave me your “let’s not have sex ever again” talk?
“I wanted to show you I meant it. Come on, Amy! Stop looking at it like it’s the world’s smallest dick—just take it!”
“The world’s smallest… What iswrongwith you?”
He laughs. “Hey, you don’t have to open it now. You could just slip it under your tree.”
He really needs to stop smiling at me like that.
“I’m a twenty-year-old woman,” I snap. “You think I have a fuckingtree?”
That was awkward—and completely random, too. But gifts really do freak me out. My birthday is basically my own personal nightmare—just that whole situation where people watch you tear off the paper, staring into your face like they’re peering into your soul. I shudder.
“You aresucha pain in the ass, you know that?” He drops the bag at my feet. “I’ve got something else for you, too.” He pulls an envelope out of his back pocket. “This one you need to open right away.”
I glance from left to right. “Hold up—did you just give me an order?”
“Fine! I’m opening it for you.”
