Page 79 of My Rules

Well, if that isn’t the most awkward thing I’ve ever done.

“Let’s go paint the town red.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Or not.

As we walk out the front door, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look like I’m about to throw up ... that’s probably because I feel like I am. We walk to the driveway, and the blood drains from my face.

All of it.

Every last drop.

His car is florescent green and has a big wing on the back, as if it’s a race car, and it has a huge antenna, as if he’s intending to talk to space.

Only it isn’t a race car or a spaceship—it’s a family car pimped out to look like a race car.

Fuck me . . .

“Isn’t she great?”

“Yes.” I smile awkwardly. “Great.”

“I love my cars like I like my women. Fast and hot.” He laughs out loud, and I’m so embarrassed for him that I laugh too. He holds up his hand for another high five.

I awkwardly slap it.

Help.

I glance up to see Blake walk out his front door. He’s in dress pants and a sport coat and looks like he just stepped out of a magazine.

This can’t be happening.

I practically run and dive into the Kermit the Frog car and slam the door behind me.

Mr. No Name gets in behind the wheel, and Blake casually drives past in his brand-new silver Porsche.

Vroom, vroom, vroom. Mr. No Name revs the engine.

I look over at him. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you what she’s capable of.”

“Wow,” I whisper. “Powerful.”

“You know it, baby.”

Beads of sweat begin to drip down my back. This cannot be happening.

He revs the engine a few more times for added effect as I stare out the window, feeling like I’m in a bad episode of Pimp My Ride. I consider jumping out of the car and lying on the road so that he can run over me. I’ll do anything I can to get out of this date.

Mr. No Name happily chats all the way to the restaurant while I continue to sweat like a pig. We park the car and get out, and then it dawns on me: I want to be in there first, before Blake arrives, so he and his date don’t have to watch us walk in.

This is awkward enough.

“Come on, we can’t be late.” I begin to power walk in front.

“Hold up, old girl.”

My eyes flicker red. Old girl isn’t something I want to hear on a date, you dickhead.

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