Page 3 of Pucked Together

By the looks of him, his daddy must be some old money oil tycoon, and he's never known a day of hard work in his life.

He rolls his head and revs his engine again.

This causes Wednesday to unleash her "I don't like you" stance, and she lets out a growl in his direction.

If I'm a whimsical pink fairy, Wednesday is my dark alter ego. And she's about to let him know exactly what she thinks of him.

"Hold on, girl. Keelan's coming for us. I just gotta let this asshole pass."

I call Keelan again, and it goes to voicemail. "Where the hell is he?" I ask as I look around for any signs of help on the way.

Baby Driver's music behind me is replaced by the sound of somebody on his Bluetooth speaker.

Then suddenly, the gates open, and I feel like Moses when the Red Sea was parted.

Well, maybe that's a bit dramatic.

But I've been driving for two days straight, my dog has to pee, and I'm pretty sure my car was about to call it quits just outside of Austin three hours ago. My brain sure did, anyway.

"Finally," I whisper, taking the car out of park and inching through the opening gate as soon as I can squeeze between the two sides.

According to the GPS, I'm still five minutes from Keelan's house. Which means he must live deep in the heart of this Stepford-doppelganger of a neighborhood.

The street leading into the neighborhood is lined with trees that look like they each have a personal groomer on staff. The houses are on over an acre of land each.

"Wednesday...we're not in Cali anymore."

She huffs in agreement and turns to look out her window at a woman wearing her hair in a high pony, pushing a stroller. The woman is chatting with her friend, who's power-walking beside her. It’s the big husky at her side that Wednesday is focused on.

Poor husky has got to be melting. Though even he's too posh to show it with his nose held up high.

It's late September, and it feels like fall has decided to be fashionably late around here. Even so, everything and everyone is so polished.

Well, everyone but the asshole with the expensive car who is still behind me.

Please turn. Please turn.

He's right on my tail. Ever the obnoxious jerk his car screams that he is, by the third turn, I'm convinced of it.

Why on Earth is he following me?

I decide at this point that he's just an asshole and needs to be taught a lesson. Plus, I don't particularly care if he rear-ends my shitty car.

I look over at Wednesday, who can clearly read my mind because she squints and gives a terse nod as if willing me to do it. Okay, I might've just imagined it because what dog actually reads minds, much less responds to thoughts?

But hell, I'm tired. And possibly delirious. So, I slam on the brakes. And either he has the quickest reflexes of any human I've ever met, or his spaceship-of-a-vehicle has braking sensors that stop him right before our cars connect.

He's staring at me through my rearview mirror, completely paralyzed for a moment as if deciding what to do next.

Wednesday and I flip him the bird before we start moving again. Correction, I flip him the bird. Wednesday definitely would if she could. Probably.

God, I need sleep.

Before I can start rolling again, my new friend decides to pull to my left side and races off in front of me, kicking up rocks that end up giving my windshield a nice makeover.

That'll cost some money. Money that I don't have right now.

His dumb music vanishes along with him.

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