Serves Me Wright

I opened my driver’s side door and reached across the console to pop the lock her Julian. He slipped into the passenger side as I revved the engine.

By revved, it was really more of praying and clicking the engine over until it caught.

“Phew, okay,” I said with a smile. “Bertha has her moments.”

“You want to drive this to Austin?”

I glanced over at him. “Why not?”

“No reason,” he said with a smirk.

It was uncomfortable how attractive he was. His dark hair was styled artfully, short on the sides and a little longer on the top. His toned body was hidden underneath a cerulean-blue polo and khakis that ended a few good inches above his knee, revealing his muscular quads. I realized I was staring and returned my attention to Bertha.

I flipped the air-conditioning on and prayed to a higher being that it would turn on. It had been going out for years. It probably needed to be repaired, but I could get a whole new car for the cost to replace the AC unit.

Unfortunately, it didn’t come on.

“Fuck,” I ground out. I banged on the top of the console. “Turn on, you piece of shit. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

This time, Julian couldn’t keep it together. “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you cuss.”

I blushed. “I use it to color conversation, not to make conversation.”

He chuckled. “Does yelling at Bertha usually make her work?”

“Yes,” I said, hitting the car again. When the AC didn’t kick on, I sank back into the driver’s seat with a huff. “She usually works…eventually.”

“You know, I could drive us.”

I glared at him. “Do you have a problem with Bertha?”

He held his hands up. “Absolutely not. I have a problem with driving six hours through Texas without AC…in May.”

“It builds character,” I quipped.

He quirked a smile at me. “You did say you wanted to make an impression.”

I glanced over at the fancy new sports car he’d parked in my driveway. It was a silver Jaguar convertible that had to have come straight off a conveyor belt. I’d never owned anything that new or shiny in my entire life. Neither had my parents. It probably would be more comfortable, plus the bonus of working air-conditioning.

I sighed. “Fine.”

Julian chuckled and nudged me. “Don’t act like I held you at gunpoint to make this decision.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Bertha.”

“Of course not. She’s perfectly wonderful.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t condescend to me, Wright.”

He put his hand to his heart. “Never.”

I rolled my eyes and then hopped out of the car. “Don’t forget to lock the door.”

He pushed the lock down. “No problem.”

His car beep-beeped next to me, and I jumped. I hadn’t expected it. I covered my embarrassed flush by popping Bertha’s trunk open again. I removed my duffel, and Julian extracted his sleek rolling suitcase.

“May I?” he asked, reaching for my duffel.

I let him have it, and he opened the Jag’s trunk.

“Is it even going to fit?” I asked, staring dubiously at the tiny trunk space.

He smirked. “That’s what she said.”

I covered my face. “Oh my God, you did not just say that.”

“You set me up,” he countered, sliding the suitcase and my duffel into the trunk.

“Well, now, I’m mortified. I didn’t mean…”

He laughed and opened the passenger door. “Just get in the car, Jen.”

“Are you sure you still want to go with me this weekend?” I asked when I stood before him.

“I’m sure.”

“It might be…awkward.”

Julian leaned forward against the door and smiled a smile that nearly knocked me off my feet. “I think it’s going to be fun.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

It was now or never. Once we were on the road, I was committed. I’d agonized over whether or not to go through with this enough the last week. I hadn’t even told my parents about bringing a boyfriend, just in case. But now, we were here, and he was smiling at me, and fuck it, I wanted him with me.

I dropped into the passenger seat. “So, what have you named her?”

“Who?”

“The car.”

He laughed. “She doesn’t have a name.”

He jogged around and got into the driver’s seat. The engine purred when he barely touched it. As if it really were a jaguar responding to his touch.

“She’s not real until you name her.”

“You name her,” he said automatically.

I shrugged. “Okay. You might regret that. I did name my car Bertha.”

“I’m already regretting the decision.”

“Cornelia,” I told him.

His eyes bulged as he veered us away from my house. “How does my new Jaguar look like a Cornelia?”

“It was that or Millicent.”

“Hey, I like Millicent. We can call her Milli.”

I snort-laughed and covered my face. “Milli!”

“All right, Milli. I’ll let you take it from here.”

He gunned it, and then we were out of the city and into the countryside beyond.

* * *

As we pulled into Austin city limits, Julian forced us to stop at a local coffee shop, so he could survive the impending traffic. He was more used to it than me, having grown up in Vancouver, but it had been almost four years for him. Both of us were irritable as we merged into the mess.