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He keeps laughing.

Fucker.

“What happened next, Hot Lips? You put the moves on her?”

“I’m not Hot Lips. And no, I didn’t put the moves on her.” I glare at him. “She took me to her vehicle.”

“And?”

I grit my teeth. “I passed out.”

He falls against the seat, wheezing.

“I hate you.”

He wipes his eyes and sits up, trying to regain his composure. “You passed out before you could tell her to take you home?”

“Would you fucking drive?”

“I can’t. I’m laughing too hard.”

I hit him again, pain slicing through me.

“Answer the question, Hot Lips.”

“Yes, ass wipe. I passed out.”

He starts howling with laughter all over again.

I glare at him. “You done?”

“Okay. Okay.” He holds up his hands, trying to get serious. “Then what?”

“I woke up on a couch. She’d stitched me.”

His head hits the steering wheel and the fucking horn blares.

“Jesus Christ.” I look around, pain hitting me like knives the second I move. “Drive, motherfucker.”

His shoulders shake.

“Dammit, Mapquest. Fucking drive.”

He finally lifts his head and shifts into gear. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he pulls onto the road.

I breathe out a sigh of relief.

It’s blissfully silent for two seconds before he starts his shit.

“Is this woman a bodybuilder?”

“No. Far from it.”

“How did she get your big ass inside...” He smirks. “Her house, right?”

“My ass is not big. And yes, her house.”

“So she got you inside by herself?”