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“Friends. San Remo.” I zip up the suitcase, lift it off the bed, and grab my everyday purse, shoving my borrowed one into it.
“Absolutely not.”
Rolling my eyes, I drag the suitcase out of the room, bumping it down the carpeted stairs. Mom follows, periodically trying to grab at the case.
We step out onto the covered porch, and I look over at her, my eyebrows raised. I think she’s forgetting something in all this forbidding and sayingno.
“I’m twenty-three. I think you’ll find you will have a hard time stopping me,” I point out. Mom glares at me, squaring her shoulders and smirking triumphantly at me. My eyes narrow. I don’t like the glint in her eye.
“How are you getting there?” She arches a brow as I pull my keys out of my purse.
“I thought I’d drive.”
Her hand darts out, snatching the keys as I stare at her. “With what car? Do you honestly think your father and I will finance you running off to play house with criminals?”
“I guess I’ll take a cab then?”
Did she honestly expect me to give up my plan and walk back inside because she told me I couldn’t take the BMW? What am I, five?
“With what money? You’ll be handing that credit card back.”
Ooh, big threat. Digging out my wallet, I pull out the two credit cards, including my black Amex, throwing them over my shoulder. As Mom darts to pick them up, I bump my suitcase down the porch steps, ordering a cab from the local app on my phone.
“Lisa will pay,” I call over my shoulder.
I get to the curb, waiting there. It usually takes about five minutes for a cab to appear from memory. I’m a priority pick-up on the app. Guess Mom forget they set that up for me.
Mom appears at my side, snatching my phone out of my hand as I gape at her.
“Hey, that’s mine.”
“I think you’ll find you’re on the family plan.”
Whatever. I turn my eyes back to the road, smirking as I can see her out of the corner of my eye, trying to unlock the phone – probably to cancel the cab callout. She shoves the phone in my face, and I blink. The joke is on her. I don’t have facial recognition to open my phone. I don’t trust that shit. I have a good old-fashioned pin code. Ha.
Mom frowns, tapping on my phone, trying to guess my pin code. Good luck with that. She’s still at it when the cab pulls up. I slide into the backseat, tugging my suitcase in with me. If I put it in the trunk, she might try to grab it out.
“She doesn’t have any money,” Mom rats me out, leaning down to speak through the passenger window to the driver in the front seat.
He spins, glaring at me. Shit. He’s totally going to tell me to get the fuck out.
“They’re paying at the other end,” I inform him. He’s already shaking his head before I even finish speaking.
“I don’t accept fares that can’t pay. There’s no guarantee. I’m not running a charity. You need to get out.”
Mom looks triumphant, but I pull out my trump card.
“Take me to San Remo Police Station, then. Any precinct.”
The driver hesitates, pinching his lips, his eyes darting from me to Mom, who looks outraged.
“Fine,” he mutters, pulling away from the curb while Mom mouths after us in shock.
We turn out of our street, and his eyes meet mine in the mirror.
“They’re paying at the other end?” he confirms. I nod, relief coursing through me. “Where to?”
“The Wild Hawks Clubhouse.”
