“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, just the icing on top of today’s shit sundae. Something is wrong with my card.”
I thought back to the coffee shop. “Actually, it didn’t work this morning either. Hang on.” Closing out of Uber, I opened my banking app and gaped at all the zeroes on my statement page.
“I need to call the bank.”
“Stay there. I’ll order an Uber and send you the car details. Come to my place. We’re getting white girl wasted tonight.”
“I fucking love your face.”
“Of course you do.”
I let out a genuine laugh as we hung up, sobering quickly as I called up the details for my bank.
In a lot of ways, phone banking had revolutionized society. What once would have meant spending hours traveling to a branch, waiting to be served, and handling mountains of paperwork could now be done in an hour or so—after you finish sitting on call waiting for an inexplicably painful amount of time.
In other ways, it was the worst. Like when you find out your “husband” has been funneling money in and out of your account for months.
“I don’t know how to make this much clearer. I. Don’t. Have. A. Husband.”
The man who had so pleasantly identified as Matthew ten minutes before sighed, as though he were questioning his life decisions after taking on this call.
“You have shared an address with an”—the tap tap of a keyboard came down the line as a blue sedan pulled up in front of me—”Adam Fuller…for more than twelve months, have you not? We have all the documentation on file. Maybe have a chat with him as a first point of reference.” Thedon’t waste my timewent unsaid.
I disconnected the call before I lost my mind at the stupid man and slid dejectedly into the back seat of my Uber.
“Rough day?” the guy asked, eyeing me in the rearview, as though worried I’d explode or worse…cry.
“Something like that,” I muttered.
“You like music?” he asked, cranking up the volume on the radio. “My daughters love these guys. Goats and Vandals. You heard of ‘em? Weird name, but I have to admit, I don’t mind their tunes.”
I grunted in a way I hoped he would take as agreement and put my head back, letting the sound wash over me. Their drummer and bassist kept a rich bass sound going while dueling guitars added layers of complexity to the overall performance.
Then the vocals joined the mix.
Deep and rough, as though the singer had just downed a straight shot of tequila, his words moved over my body like the phantom hands of a lover. I parted my lips, gasping a little as the melody rose into a keening cry that had me adjusting in my seat.
Where was I?
Shit.
My eyes snapped open, ripping me out of the moment as I realized I was getting turned on in the back of an Uber. Damn. They were good. I could understand why the band was popular; they were selling aural orgasms.
“…don’t have the best reputation, though. I won’t let the girls see them live. I’m hip with it. I watch the E! News and see the scandals those boys get themselves into.”
“You sound like a good dad,” I said, for lack of anything better to stop the ramble.
The skin on the back of his neck reddened as he stumbled over his thanks and was finally silent.
Thirteen minutes later, we pulled up in front of a ritzy-as-hell apartment complex with sea views and every amenity a rock star could ask for.
“Nice place,” my new friend said with an impressed grunt.
“Yeah, I’m just visiting,” I said, doing an awkward wriggle to get out and thanking him for the ride.
At the door to the complex, I was met by a security guard with an earpiece. He took my name and made me wait while he cleared me for entry.
