Page 1 of My Best Friend's Dad

Chapter one

Bellatrix

You know that sound vehicles make right before they die? Thecough, cough, splutter, clunk, bang, boom, and then the ominous silence?

My car pretty much just did the world’s most accurate impression.

The last clunk is especially ominous, so I think fast and veer off the road. I’m downtown, but it’s so late that, luckily, there are empty parking spaces lining both sides of the road. I’m able to drive right into one, thank the stars, becauseOhMylanta, I guarantee I wouldn’t have been able to execute a parallel park with old Susan malfunctioning and banging away—or okay, on a good day with a car that has a backup camera, park assist, and the function that just takes over driving for a person, period.

As soon as my front passenger tire brushes along the curb, Susan stops the loud clunking, the lights stop flashing all wonky in the interior, the wheel turns into a brick, and everything goes ominously silent. I’m barely able to get the gearshift intopark, and I’m still not even fully into the parking space. I curse under my breath and try the ignition several times with no luck, just more ominous silence. I take it to mean she’s given up on running forever and for good without significant repairs.

Which I can’t afford.

Case in point, it’s how we got to this exact moment.

I was told a few months ago that my transmission was going, but who the farge can afford between four and six grand to fix that? The car isn’t even worth a thousand bucks. The very sweet old mechanic’s advice, given with a wiggle of bushy bush eyebrows, was to “drive ‘er ‘til she dies.”

Alas.

Also?Fuck.

This is the last thing I need tonight of all nights.

But what exactly does one even need after heading over to their boyfriend’s house to surprise them and finding them balls deep in not one, not two, but three women? Okay, so I get that, physically, he could only be in one, but he had his fingers in the other pies. I barely even got a good look at their faces, but I’m guessing they were older because I walked in on him calling them “Mommy” and telling them to punish him for being a bad boy.

That’s bad, but the worst part is Kevin looked right at me. They were on the couch and, umm, the coffee table and the floor, and his front door is such that it opens right into the living room. He didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed.

Maybe I should have taken the hint about our relationship reaching the final stages of officially being over. We haven’t had sex in weeks. Instead of just calling it a day, I planned a sexy surprise for him. It was very un-Bellatrix-ish. It had taken me days to talk myself into it.

“Fuck!” I lower my forehead to the steering wheel and allow the tears to come, even if I should be cursing Kevin. And hisdecidedly average-sized member. Not like it mattered. He was having plenty of fun in there. “Ugh!” I know my name means female warrior and all that, but at the moment, I’ve used up all my warrior nature. The tears streak down my cheeks, scalding hot, until my pale, freckled skin is pinched with salt streaks.

Thank goodness I didn’t waste years on Kevin of the Average Member. We’ve only been dating for five months. It’s not like this is the heartbreak to end all heartbreaks. It’s just…does anyone enjoy getting cheated on? Aside from being utterly humiliating, it’s just one of those trust-busting incidents that shakes one’s faith in the male population. Err, well, maybe all the population. I can’t say cheating is limited to men.

Kevin and his darned, “Let’s date, babe. It’ll be fun, babe. We’ll be great together, babe.” Does anything that starts with those words ever end well? Probably not, as per the whole internet full of “It’ll be fun, they said” memes.

Well,barnacles on a biscuit, this night isn’t the least bit amusing.

On top of my relationship being dead and over in the most obvious and salty-wounds-inspiring of ways, I now have no vehicle.

It’s pushing toward eleven on a Wednesday night, which means I have work tomorrow and no way to get there. Public transportation and getting my steps in it is, I guess, but it doesn’t fix the mess I’m in now.

I raise my head, swipe at the sticky, gooey mess on my face, and snatch my skull purse up to fumble inside for my phone. And I do mean fumble. The thing might get tons of oohs and ahhs and a whole lot ofoh my god, where did you get that amazing bag?comments, but it’s hardly practical. For one, the zipper absolutely eats. As in, it freaking eats the skin of your hand every time you reach in. It’s like sticking your fingers into the jagged maw of garbage disposal death. The top flap of thecranium—is the top of the head a cranium? I need to make a mental note to look up all the head and skull anatomy later—opens up to the tiniest inside pocket, but somehow, everything still manages to get lost in there like it’s a black hole of destiny. I’ll always love this bag, and I make sure to use it plenty because my bestie, Mika, gave it to me, and she acts like it’s the best day of her life every time she sees me wearing or using something she’s gifted.

I lose half the skin on the side of my hand and my pinkie, but when I find my phone, it’s worth it. I can call for a tow truck, and I’ll probably be home in an hour. I might just have a small, bland condo, but at least it has a great tub. Nothing would feel better than putting on some rage, I mean classical music, and sinking down into warm water before I toss myself into bed and not cry myself to sleep.

The phone…

Is…

Dead.

“You have to be kidding me!”

There’s no head-flopping onto the wheel this time, but I do full-on knuckle punch it, which results in a little toot of the horn that makes me jump so hard that the seatbelt locks up, pinning me to the seat.

“Motherflucker!”

That just reminds me of everything I’m currently trying not to think about. A whole body shudder rocks me, which makes the seatbelt of prison death tighten up further. The upper part is pretty much right across my airway. I drop my dead phone and fumble with the release, but the evil belt of car strangulation gets a good thirty seconds of cutting my air off before the click of relief comes.