“I have a favor to ask.”
“No.” She starts to close the door.
“You haven’t even heard what it is yet. I agreed to let you stay this fall. Isn’t that enough? How can you say no?”
“Easy. It’s called being selfish.”
“I’ll owe you!” I shout before she can slam the door shut. “What do you want?”
“An espresso maker. One of those nice ones. I need to be able to froth my milk.”
I’d really like to tell her what she can do with an espresso maker, but that won’t get me to my appointment. “That’s several hundred dollars, which I don’t have. What if I buy you one of those handheld milk frothers?”
She mulls it over. “In hot pink?”
Do they even sell frothers in hot pink? Who knows, but I have an online gift card from last Christmas that I can use to get her what she wants. “Done.”
“Okay, so what’s the favor?”
This is the strangest negotiation I’ve ever experienced. “I need a ride to and from the doctor’s office. Right now.”
“I want to make an amendment to our agreement.”
I blow out a breath. “What else do you want?”
She shrugs. Tugs at her shorts. “Some of those biscuits and gravy that you made those guys who mowed your lawn. It smelled really good, and I haven’t had a carb in two years.”
“Fine.”
We’re headed down Main Street when she turns to me. “Where’s lover boy? Why isn’t he driving you to your appointment?”
Good question. “He had a conflict.” I’m guessing something came up, but it’s unusual for him not to text me back.
“Why don’t you just drive yourself?” She eyes my belly. “You’re not that big. Can’t you still fit behind the wheel of your car?”
I feel like the punchline of a bad joke. What’s smaller than a house but doesn’t fit behind the wheel of a car? “I drive stick, and the doctor told me he didn’t want me driving because it could put strain on—”
“Your vag?”
“That general area, yes. And it’s bad for my blood pressure.” I sound like I’m a retiree instead of a college student.
We drive in silence. I’m going to be a little late, but hopefully the doctor will squeeze me in.
Amelia drives with one hand on the wheel and one on the radio as she compulsively changes the stations.
It’s weird to think that I’m sitting next to Olly’s ex. I watch her out of the corner of my eye. Amelia really is beautiful. She has thick blonde hair, stunning eyes, and a killer body. I’ve tried not to think about her and Olly together, but at the moment, it’s a challenge. Deep down I wonder, if she was a nice person, would they still be together? Probably. Now that I know him, I realize Olly’s not a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy.
Amelia drives over a vicious pothole that reverberates through my guts.
“Ugh, pregnancy really sucks.” I squeeze my eyes shut and wait until the pain subsides.
“Please don’t pee in my car.”
I squint at her. “You do realize I’ve been housebroken since I was about two, right? I’ll only pee on you if you’re particularly evil. Warning—you’re cutting it close.”
She laughs and gives me the first genuine smile I’ve seen. “If you weren’t dating my ex, I might like you. You’re not so bad. I mean, you’re better than a yeast infection.”
“Thank you,” I say sarcastically. Being best buds with Amelia ranks up there with re-grouting my bathroom. “I should add that to my resume. ‘Graphic design samples available, and according to Amelia Larson, the girl on the Times Square billboard, I’m better than an itchy twat.’”
