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Drive away now . . . go on. Get in your car, and drive away.
I glance back over to him as he talks on the phone. The sleeves on his jacket are hitched up a little, and I can see his expensive chunky watch. I don’t know what kind of watch that is, but it probably costs more than my car.
Damn it, I can’t loiter any longer. It’s so obvious what I’m doing. Here goes nothing. “Let’s go, buddy.” I begin to jog with my trusty friend beside me, trying my hardest to look perky. I get fifty yards up the road and am about to collapse. Drive past already. I can’t keep up the pace for this long.
As I approach the military house, the front door opens. A big buff guy with a crew cut appears with two girls.
He kisses one girl and then turns and kisses the other. Carol was right; they are gangbangers.
Oh . . .
I keep running past, fascinated.
How exotic . . . my mind boggles. How does that work? Does he finish one off completely and then move on to the other, or do they keep swapping the entire time? I think on this scenario for a moment. I don’t think I would like to share with another girl; that’s not hot to me. I would want to be the one with two men.
Barry suddenly cuts across in front of me. I stumble and fall and just catch myself in the nick of time in the most unladylike of ways.
The black Range Rover pulls up beside me, and the passenger-side window comes down. “What happened, Juliet, distracted? Can’t keep your eyes on the road?” Henley asks as he raises his brow, and I don’t know if he’s being playful or judgy.
“Just keeping an eye on things around here, Mr. James,” I reply as I keep running.
“And as the newest member of Carol’s neighborhood watch program, what have you worked out?” he asks.
“That the military house is definitely one to watch.”
Mischief flashes across his face as he drives along at a slow pace beside me. “I thought you would run faster than this.”
You thought wrong.
“Is critiquing elite athletes a hobby for you?” I puff. Please drive away. I’m about to go into cardiac arrest.
“Only the clumsy ones.” He smirks.
How could a smirk be gorgeous?
Get a grip, Juliet.
He’s a jerk.
“On your way, then.” I try not to puff.
Dying . . . no air.
His car stays slow with me. “Am I annoying you?”
Drive away, motherfucker!
“Yes, and you’re very good at it,” I puff. “Go and do whatever it is that you do.”
He smiles as if his mission has been accomplished. “Have a good day.” He drives off, and I watch his fancy car as it disappears around the corner. I stop and put my hands on my knees while I gasp for air.
Maybe he’s being nice to me because he feels sorry for me because of my pajamas.
I get a vision of myself in Minnie Mouse underwear and what he must think of me, and I pant in disgust.
“Keep running, bitch.”
Everyone wearing white at a bachelorette party.
