Unwrapping Holly

“My car!”

The whole front of my cherished little hatchback was smashed in! One of the headlights was missing. Half the bumper was hanging off. The lower part of the hood was crumpled…

Patricia Ponytail sped up the ramp without even looking my way. My car disappeared once again from view, leaving me feeling sick and disappointed.

Awwww… My car…

I felt like I’d been kicked in the gut, seeing my treasured vehicle like that. We’d shared hundreds of City miles together! But in a strange sort of way, I also felt vindicated.

Malcolm!

I could only imagine my ex-boyfriend’s face! The things he’d say! How high his voice would climb through the octaves when he saw what happened, if he hadn’t already.

Then again, he could’ve turned in the lease by now. He should’ve turned in the lease by now…

“Eat shit Malcolm,” I smiled, as the elevator doors opened behind me.

Thirty

BRODY

“Oh I’m telling you, it exists.”

Holly was slapping me in the arm every time I teased her. Somehow, though I maintained my stoic expression. I’d kept from laughing, even in the face of grave, boyfriend-slapping danger.

“There is not a museum of sex,” she admonished me.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“And how long have you been here in New York?”

She rolled her eyes skyward for a moment, as if the answer were up there. “Two years. Going on three.”

“Then you’re lying,” I said. “Or you’re crazy. Or you’re blind. But there’s no way I believe you haven’t gone there yet.” I looked her up and down. “Especially someone as sexy as you.”

I sipped at my straw, until there was nothing left in my cup but ice. We were already full of pizza. Joe’s pizza. The best pizza.

“Not only is there a museum of sex,” I informed her, “but they have a bounce house made out of inflatable breasts.”

Holly let out a short bust of mocking laughter. “The fuck they do.”

I stopped walking mid-stride. The people on the sidewalk behind us were forced to adjust their course, moving around us on both sides.

“Wanna bet?”

Her blue-green eyes narrowed. She regarded me carefully. “Sure. I’ll bet whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” An instant smile split my face. “You sure about that?”

“Yup,” she said. “You take me to a museum of sex — and I mean a real museum, not just your bedroom,” she laughed, “and yes. I’ll do anything you want.”

She drew out the word ‘anything’, and even added a wink. But it was a wink of confidence. A wink that told me she knew I was kidding around.

Not that I actually was, of course.

“Alright then,” I shrugged, extending my hand. “Let’s go. But hey, just remember… you were the one who made the bet.”