Page 49 of Jesse

Do I care?

Absolutely not.

I don’t even know what we’re going to do today. I have no plans other than monopolize her day. Make her waste time with me. Make her hate me.

This is what’s called the classic hate fuck, Jesse.

Her words are burned into my mind forever. I will never stop hearing her say that to me. Ever.

The balls on this woman. Giant, motherfucking bull-sized balls on this woman.

My phone dings in my hand just as a horn honks behind me.

I glance down at the screen and read her message. I’m right behind you.

Then I glance in the rear-view and see her waving at me from a… what the fuck?

She’s smiling broadly from the driver’s seat of a matte-black Lamborghini Huracán, her curlicue pigtails bobbing around her face.

She honks again. My phone dings. The text reads. Get in. I’m driving.

Oh, I don’t think so. I came here in a motherfucking Ferrari Portofino. Red. So I text back. You get in. I’m driving.

My phone rings. “What?” I ask, so annoyed. Because while the Portofino was an excellent choice, I do have to admit the Huracán has sex written all over it.

“I’m driving. Get in.”

“You’re not driving,” I say. “I’m the man, I do the driving.”

She revs her engine behind me. “We’re taking my car. If you’re a good boy maybe I’ll let you drive it.”

“I could buy my own Huracán, Emma. I don’t need to drive yours.”

I catch her smiling even bigger in the mirror. “We can compare dicks all day long if you want. But I’m not getting out of this car until we arrive at our destination. So. I suggest you pick and choose your battles carefully, Mr. Boston. Because as you can see, I’m sporting pigtails. And what you can’t see is that I’m wearing the same outfit I was that day at the shaved ice stand all those years ago.”

“Hmm,” I say.

“Hmm, indeed. This is your fantasy, right? You want to make me look like that teenager I was back then. Fine. I’ll play along. If you let me drive my car.”

“I don’t know where you got this car, but it’s definitely not yours.”

“It is now. I had it delivered fifteen minutes ago.”

“You bought a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car to impress me?”

“Two-seventy-five with upgrades. But who’s counting? And I didn’t do it to impress you, Jesse. Don’t be dumb. I did it to make you feel inferior.”

“So that’s how this is gonna go?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re trying to hate-fuck me with a car.”

“I… don’t really know if that’s a thing. But sure.”

I hesitate.

“You know you want to drive it.”