I take her groan for an answer.
“I’d rather extract half a bottle of vodka out of my interior than a doner kebab loaded with tzatziki sauce.”
“Mmm, a doner kebab sounds mighty enticing right now.”
I continue walking us back to my car. My steps are slow since Willow’s dangling legs are swaying precariously between my splayed thighs. The last thing I want is another whack to the nuts.
“We’ll look at a greasy kebab tomorrow—when you’re begging for something to soak up the leftover slosh in your belly.”
When we reach the passenger side door of my car, I swing my eyes to Mister Mystra’s. “Where’s Skylar?”
I scan the crowd seeking the blonde bombshell Willow painted in painstaking detail last night. Her description was so vivid, I was convinced I had met Skylar before, but it didn’t take me long to realize the errors of my ways. We had never crossed paths; Skylar is just the quintessential American college girl. Long blonde hair, big cornflower blue eyes, and a body that apparently makes men drool.
If I hadn’t heard the pride in Willow’s voice when she described her friend, I would have thought she was jealous, although she has no reason to be. Willow might not be a typical, everyday girl, but she has plenty going for her. Enough that several men on the sidewalk are more than happy to sneak a peek at her thighs when her unladylike slide into my car causes her skirt to ride up well past her knee.
I slam the door shut, nearly drowning out Willow’s reply that Skylar left twenty minutes ago. I’m about to go on a rant about safety in numbers at college hangouts, but my front tires lifting from the road surface forces it to the backburner. I don’t just have a boot on my tire, but my car is being towed.
“Come on, man, you can’t take my car. Look at my friend; she’s nearly passed out in the passenger seat. If you tow my vehicle, I’ll have no way to get her home. Do you really want that on your conscience?”
The parking officer’s hand looks like a duck jabbering away before he continues filling in the citation he is planning to give me. “This is a red zone. Red does not mean stop. It means you can’t park here.” He talks to me like I’m an idiot, as if my skills on the field are the only skillset I have. “Your vehicle will be impounded at the Walter Street impound lot. Once you’ve paid your fine and the impound fee, it will be returned to you. It opens at 5 AM.”
He rips off my citation notice before pivoting around to face me. I’ve never been more grateful for a recognizable face than I am right now. He stammers backward, his eyes widening with every fumbled step he makes.
“You’re. . . You’re. . .Oh. My. God!” His last three squealed words shred my eardrums. It was worse than any female fan I’ve heard in my life.
Before he can blow my cover to a curious Willow watching our exchange with an eagle eye, I pace closer to him. “Hey, I’m Presley Carlton; it’s a pleasure to meet you. Have you been a 69ers fan for long?”
He looks seconds from passing out as he answers, “Only my whole life. My dad is a 69ers fan; his dad is a 69ers fan; hell, even my granddad’s dad was a 69ers fan.”
“That’s awesome, man, really great. So I take it a pair of season tickets wouldn’t be of any interest to you, would they?”
His pupils turn massive as sweat beads on his top lip. “Season tickets?”
He’s certain he heard me wrong.
He didn’t.
“Yep. I’ve got a few passes lying around, not doing anything. They’re yours, if you want them?”
“Oh, please, sir, yes, sir, I’d love them, sir.” His hurried words remind me of Oliver Twist asking for some more gruel inOliver!
“Alright, great. Can I borrow your pen to write down where you need to pick up the tickets?” He shoves his pen into my hand even faster than he did my fine. “I’ll give you the ticket agent’s name and number, then all you need to do is hand him this, and he’ll give you the passes.” I nudge my head to the citation in my hand. “Where should I jot down the information he needs? On here, perhaps?”
I give him a look, one that says we won’t be exchanging any details without him giving as much as he’s receiving.
It takes him a few seconds to understand, but when he does, his head bobs up and down. “Yeah, that will be great. While you do that, I’ll get that pesky boot off your tire.”
“Perfect.”
I flash him my trademark smirk before filling in the details as requested. Every letter I scribble increases Danny’s imaginary whine in my ear. Season passes don’t come cheap, but if it saves my cover being blown and a pricy impound fee, I’m happy to lose a few thousand from my bank account.
Once the boot is removed from my tire, I hand the parking officer my fine. “There you go, all set. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
He stumbles out a hundred apologies in one sentence. I only catch half of them since I’m too busy sliding into the driver’s seat of my car and hightailing it down the street before Willow catches on to what our exchange was about.
I shouldn’t have bothered. She’s fast asleep, her faint snores barely audible over the healthy purr of my engine.
CHAPTER TWELVE
