Page 27 of Squad Ghouls

I did a three-point turn that, in my version, came with four added points. It got the job done.

Ryan was clutching the seat the whole time, begging me not to drive us off the cliff. Which I had almost never done before. So the odds were really low.

He didn’t seem comforted by that, for some reason.

I got us onto the narrow road leading down the cliffside towards town and we bounced merrily over each and every one of the countless potholes along the way.

“You know you don’t have to hit every single one,” Ryan said after we drove over one particularly big pothole and bounced so hard his head hit the roof.

“The drive into town is pretty boring, so I pretend it’s a video game,” I said. “Every hole is a goal.”

“That’s what she said.”

I snuck a glance at him. “Your mum?” I asked in confusion.

He snorted, shaking his head. “It’s wild that you don’t hear it. Absolutely wild.”

“Hear what?” We were talking video games, weren’t we?

“Nothing, love. So, what’s on your list?”

“List of what?”

“To buy,” Ryan said. Slowly. Like I needed more processing time. Which…I might have.

“Oh, well, I don’t really have a list…” I did have a list. It just only had a single thing on it and that thing was a replica of his dick. It was slightly difficult to work that into casual conversation though. “I know Bronwyn needs some jam and some pecans, and then I need to grab some flour.”

“For baking?” Ryan asked. “Or for pelting innocent bystanders in the face?”

“Both.” I smiled. “Definitely both.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been told.” I didn’t bother mentioning that it was never said with anything akin to the affection in his voice when he said it.

“So, jam, pecans, and flour,” Ryan said. “Anything else?”

“We’ll see if anything catches my eye.” I glanced at his crotch and tried AGAIN not to think of all the filthy things he’d done to me in my dream.

“All right,” he said, slouching into the seat and drumming his long fingers on his thick thighs.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel.

I had to get it together before I crashed the car.

We crossed into town about half an hour later, joining a fairly long line of cars heading to the market.

“Good crowd,” Ryan said, looking around the small but cute town, its rows of identical houses lining the edge of the road. Perfectly manicured lawns, dark green shutters on the windows; it was charming in that fairytale-esque way I’d always liked.

“The market is pretty popular.” I took a right turn and pulled into the large field that doubled as parking on market days, squinting to see if any spots were available. “A lot of artisans sell here so there’s a lot to see.”

“There.” Ryan pointed to a spot just being vacated and I waited for the other car to pull out before I, very efficiently, parked diagonally across the free space.

“Excellent job.” Ryan wound down the window and leant out to frown at my parking.

“Thanks!” I said cheerfully. “I do try.”

“I couldn’t tell,” he said with a shake of his head.