Authors: Lauren Rowe
Maddy blushes.
“Now don’t get all obsessed with me ’cause I said that, okay, baby doll? It’s just a figure of speech. It’s what I say to all the cool kids.” I wink.
“I will refrain from getting obsessed with you,” she says. “I promise.”
We both chomp some more popcorn.
“So do you?” I ask after a long moment.
“Do I what?”
“Have your pick of pickles?”
“Oh.” Maddy snorts. “I forgot all about that.” She pops a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Absolutely, positively
not
.” She laughs. “But so what? Does that mean I should settle for pickles who don’t get my motor running
at all
? Is that your implication? Because I really don’t think so. I used to settle—in fact, I’ve made a romantic career out of it—but I’ve recently decided that, since I’m going to a brand new school and starting a new life in a new city, I’m a man-eater now, baby. Ka-bam, son!” She flexes her arm.
I laugh. God, she’s so cute, I can’t stand it.
“From here on out,” Maddy continues, apparently oblivious to the wide smile I’m flashing her, “I’m not settling, even if that means I’m gonna be alone ’til the day I die. I’m no longer going steady with
Jesus
—I’m going steady with
me
.”
“Holy fuck, brah. You’re Kelly on
90210
.”
“Oh my God, I love that show!” She furrows her brow with mock solemnity. “‘I. Choose. Me.’”
“Yes!” I say, chuckling. “I was so pissed about that.”
“Me, too! I was like, ‘Aw, come on, Kelly! Just frickin’
choose
!’”
We both laugh.
“Oh, and we can’t forget the best episode
ever
,” Maddy says.
“‘Donna Martin graduates!’” we both shout at the same time and then burst into laughter.
Another side-high-five ensues.
“Dang it,” Maddy says after our laughter has died down. “I can’t think of another
90210
quote to save my life. You got another one for me, sugar lips?”
“Hmm. Well, there’s a pretty good one where Brandon says if Steve Sanders were any stupider, he’d have to feed him fertilizer.’”
Maddy bursts out laughing. “That’s
90210
? I don’t remember that one.”
“Yeah, it was in one of the later seasons after they’d gone away to college. I don’t remember what Steve Sanders did, but it was something really boneheaded. Z uses that one on me a lot. Sometimes, he just calls me Steve Sanders if I’ve been particularly stupid.”
Maddy chuckles. “I gotta meet Z.”
“You’d love him. And he’d love you. Actually, he already does. He liked you at ‘jerksauce’ and fell deeply in love with you at ‘dickweed.’”
Maddy makes an adorable face.
“Okay, then, enough
90210
. Back to you and your sex life, dude,” I say.
“Oh, yes, please.” She rolls her eyes.
“Maddy Milliken, Professional Eye-Roller.”
She does it again.
“I’m surprised you still have full range of motion of dem eyeballs, sweet cheeks. Okay, tell me this: how many guys have made your pulse race like you’re talking about?”
Maddy daintily places a single kernel of popcorn into her mouth. “One. My first boyfriend, Justin. Every other boyfriend since him has been a nice guy, but the physical sparks just weren’t there.”
“
One
? Jesus, Maddy.”
“Such is life for us mere mortals, Keane.”
“How many guys you been with all together?”
She presses her lips together.
“Aw, come on,” I say. “I won’t tell anybody. I gotta know what I’m working with here.”
“Three.”
I’m flabbergasted. “Your number’s
three
?”
She nods, blushing.
“Oh, for the love of all things holy, woman.”
“I’m a boyfriend-type of girl.” She shrugs. “So now you see why I’ve decided to do things differently from here on out. From now on, a guy being ‘nice’ isn’t good enough. I want it all—emotional
and
physical sparks.” She makes a face reflecting extreme distaste. “Honestly, without a strong physical connection, sex can actually be kind of...
icky
. Oh, shoot,” she says suddenly, her gaze trained on the road ahead of us. “We got traffic, son.”
As Maddy applies the brakes, I peer out the windshield, and sure enough, we’re coming up on a shit-ton of brake lights.
I look at my watch. “Rush hour, you think?”
“It’s still a bit early for that, isn’t it? Maybe there’s been an accident?”
“You want me to drive for a bit?” I ask.
“No, it’s okay.”
“Okay. Just lemme know if you change your mind, Mario Andretti. But just so you know, I got my one and only speeding ticket at age seventeen; if you let me drive, I’ll put my phone in the glove box while driving, the same way you do, and I’ll keep both hands at ten and two at all times, never taking my eyes off the road except to
occasionally
flash you my killer dimples when you say something especially cute. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this to you yet, but I’m an excellent driver.”
“Yeah, I think I heard that somewhere. Thanks. I’ll keep your offer in mind. So do you agree with me or not?”
“About what—that I’ve got killer dimples?” I flash my dimples. “Yes, I do.”
Maddy’s unfazed, which is becoming par for the course with us. “No, you narcissist, do you agree with me I should hold out for
both
emotional
and
physical attraction from here on out or do you stand by your advice that I should start jumping into bed with guys who do absolutely nothing for me physically and see where it leads?”
“Oh,
that
. Well, no, now that you put it that way, I’m not standing by that advice. Actually, I’m gonna pull a one-eighty here because I think you’re looking at this whole thing completely backwards.”
“How so?”
“Your assumption is you’ll find emotional attraction
first
and then have to figure out whether there’s enough of a physical spark, too. But why the hell wouldn’t you turn things around? I mean, yeah, if you’re looking for an actual
relationship
, then, sure, you gotta find the whole package. But why the fuck are you looking for a boyfriend at all? Fuck it. You’re young and single, about to start a new school. If I were you, I’d start this new-school-new-city thing off with a
bang
—pun intended—and have yourself some good old-fashioned chitty-chitty-bang-bang. Forget about the emotional-and-physical-connection thing for a while and get yourself laid by some guy who really gets your motor running full-throttle.”
Maddy chuckles. “Oh my God, Keane.”
“Seriously, Maddy. Why not go for it once in a while and have some fun? Ain’t no shame in that. In fact, the whole thing would be an act of protest against gender inequality.”
“How on earth would jumping into the sack with every hottie I meet, no matter how big a jerk he is or how stupid, be an act of protest against gender inequality?”
“Why should men be the only ones in our society who get to sleep around with
impunity
?”
“Big word, son.”
“Zander.”
“Ah.”
“Why is sleeping around perfectly fine for men but women are slut-shamed? Hey, that’s an interesting
juxtaposition
, wouldn’t you say? That could be your next documentary right there—
juxtaposing
the male and female sexual experience—and sleeping around could be your
research
.” Oh man. The look on Maddy’s face is too much fun not to keep hurtling ahead. “Yep, that’s exactly what you should do,” I continue. “Find yourself a dude who makes your pulse race and let him bone the livin’ fuck outta ya ’til you’re screaming your own name ’cause you don’t even know his.”
Maddy bursts out laughing at that one.
I laugh with her. It’s hard not to do—the girl’s got an infectious laugh. “Think about it,” I continue. “It’s the perfect antidote for all that ails you.” Oh man, I’m a runaway locomotive now, feeding off the sparkle in Maddy’s eyes and the bloom in her cheeks. “First off, you’ll have fun, which is reason enough. But, second off, it’ll get your confidence going, which, in turn, will attract even more alpha-type hotties, which will create a viciously
awesome
cycle of
awesomeness
, until one fine day, when you least expect it, Mr. Emotional-and-Physical-Connection will waltz straight into your life unannounced, behold your newfound swagger, and say, ‘Oh, hey there, baby doll. Sorry I kept you waiting—I was outside, parking my white horse.’”
Maddy shakes her head. “Maybe that’s the way the world works for
you
, Ball Peen Hammer, but it’s not quite like that for the rest of us. We mere mortals can’t all jump in the sack willy-nilly with our pick of pickles.”
“You don’t think you can bag any hot guy you want?”
The look on Maddy’s face tells me she doesn’t.
“Bullshit. Look at yourself. You’re gorgeous. Smokin’ hot. You could get any guy you wanted—you just have to believe in yourself a bit more. Although it certainly wouldn’t hurt if you’d show off your merchandise a bit, for fuck’s sake.”
Maddy’s eyes dart from the road just long enough to glare at me. “And here I was about to say ‘thank you for calling me gorgeous.’”
“Aw, come on, Madagascar,” I say. “You must know you look like the fucking sun in that billowy yellow shirt—and I’m not saying that in reference to your bright and sparkling personality. What the fuck are you doing wearing a flowing yellow shirt that makes it impossible for any guy to figure out what you’ve got going on under there? Dude, I’d bet dollars to doughnuts you’ve got a slammin’ hot bod under there and guys can’t make out hide nor hair of it ’cause your shirt’s so damned
billowy
.”
“Keane, I know you don’t like this word, but you really are a pig.”
“I’m just saying what everyone orbiting the sun is thinking—and, bee tee dubs, when I said ‘the sun’ in that sentence, that means you.”
“
Pig
.”
“Would you rather I think it and not say it?”
“Yes. Most definitely.
Pig
.”
“Bah. Honesty’s a good thing. It’s how we learn and grow, sweetheart.”
“Well, guess what? I don’t need to ‘learn and grow’ because I don’t dress to give guys a peep show. I dress for
me
.” She glances down at her shirt. “And I happen to like this shirt.
A lot
.”
“Well, great. Glad you like looking like a fucking planet.”
“The sun’s not a
planet
, Steve Sanders. It’s a
star
.”
“Oh, well, aren’t you a fancy-pants college student. You think that little lesson in astronomy makes your shirt any more attractive? Because it doesn’t. Okay, fine. Good for you, Galileo, you’ve made yourself look like a giant ball of gases. Happy?”
Maddy can’t resist chuckling. “You’re so
mean
. Your momma should have named you
Mean
Morgan instead of Keane Morgan.”
“I’m not mean—I’m honest. But, hey, if I’m mean, then I’m cruel to be kind. You wanna become a man-eater who gets boned by guys who get your motor running from the get-go? Then ditch that fucking horrible shirt and show off what God gave you.”
Maddy sighs. “I can’t believe I’ve agreed to be stuck in a car for two solid days with the most unenlightened human on planet earth.” She motions to the popcorn bag in my lap. “Gimme some of that popcorn, you pig. I need to self-medicate.”
“Knock yourself out,
Sunshine
.”
Maddy’s mouth is scowling at me as she plunges her hand into the popcorn bag—but her eyes are most definitely smiling. “For your information, I have no desire to waggle my boobs at guys to make them want to sleep with me. All that would do is attract a bunch of
pigs
like you.”
“
’Waggle
your boobs’?”
Maddy scowls at me.
“Okay, fine, Sunshine. Stick with attracting ‘nice’ guys who don’t get your motor running
at all
. Enjoy your ‘icky’ bonin’ all the livelong day. I was just trying to be helpful.”
“Hmmph.”
“Hmmph yourself. And, bee tee dubs, I’d love a demonstration of how you ‘waggle your boobs’ some time. How else are we gonna know for sure whether it would, indeed, attract pigs like me or make them run away squealing with terror?”
“Ha! In your dreams.” She scowls at me again, but she can’t hide the smile in her eyes.
There’s a long beat as we both chomp some more popcorn and watch the slow-moving traffic ahead of us.
“God, we’re moving at a snail’s pace,” Maddy says after a while. “I wonder what’s going on up there? Do you see ambulances or sirens or anything?”
We both peer ahead of us as best we can, but there’s no way to see what lies ahead beyond the long line of jam-packed cars.
“Naw, I can’t see a thing,” I say.
“God, I hope it’s not an accident,” Maddy says, her voice laced with anxiety.
The anxious tone in Maddy’s voice suddenly makes me remember something Dax mentioned in one of his texts:
Hannah’s extra protective of Maddy because Maddy was in a horrible car crash a few years ago.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end at the thought. Was Maddy hurt badly? Was she terrified? Shit. I hate thinking of anything bad happening to her. I study Maddy’s profile for a moment as she scrutinizes the traffic in front of us, her face scrunched with concern.
“Hey, baby doll,” I say. I touch her shoulder gently. “What do you say we get off this parking lot and look for a quiet place to chill for a bit? Have ourselves a little rest-and-relaxation sesh while we let this traffic jam sort itself out?”
“It might clear up quickly, you never know,” she says. “If you want, I can try to find an alternate route on side roads for a bit, if you’re in a hurry to get to L.A.?”
“Meh. I’m in no rush. I gotta be there by Friday night at nine, but ’til then, I’m free as a bird. What’s your timing like?”
“My first class is a week from Monday.”
“Well, all right, then. Sounds like we got some green grass, tall trees, and puffy clouds in our very near future.”