“You should read some of these comments.”
“That’s not the one that’s gone viral?”
“It is. It’s sexy. You should take a look.”
Sexy?
“Damn it, Charles. This is your fault. It was your idea.”
“Oh”—he snorted—“so now you’re done blaming the brain floating in a vat of ginger ale in Brainerd and on to blaming me.”
“I thought it was a toss-up between Duluth and Brainerd.”
“No, it’s Brainerd. Brain-erd. Get it? Clever, no? In any case, just remember, you were all game to do this, Nico. You know you were. Besides, given some of the comments from those socket slingers, gasket gurus, and suspension sensei you’ll be working with, sounds like it was a big success.”
Ping.
“Who?”
“You know, the guys who put the car together and make sure everything’s humming, those wrench wranglers and spark plug samurai.”
“You mean mechanics and engineers?”
“Right.” Charles paused. “I wonder.”
“Wonder what?”
“Rocco’s not doing the photoshoot with you, is he?”
“No! Thank God!”
“What are you wearing for the shoot?”
“My racing suit. Why?”
“I believe those suits have zippers, in which case—”
“Stop right there. If the next word out of your mouth is hair or zipper, Charlemagne, I swear—”
“I wasn’t going to say anything about hair and zippers.”
“Oh, really? Well, that’s good because I forbid you to ever utter the wordhairin conjunction with the wordzipperwithin my earshot. Ever again.” She paused. “And if you weren’t going to say something about hair and zippers, what were you going to talk about?”
“Nothing.”
“No, you were going to say something until I stopped you.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything. I was going to ask you something.”
“Oh really,” Nico said, rolling her eyes, knowing full well Charles was lying. “What were you going to ask me?”
There was a moment of silence before Charles spoke.
“I was going to ask you what you think the universe is made up of.”
“You were not. There’s an easy answer to that.”
“Oh, really? What is it?”
