Page 91 of Debugging Love

Chapter 21

Danni

Chance drives up in a van. A freaking van. Not that I care what we drive. I’m just feeling punchy. At least it’s not a 1970s Volkswagen Bus. It’s a make and model that I don’t recognize because no vans are recognizable.

I’m actually doing this. I’m going on a road trip with Chance, the serial dater. Chance, the player. And I’m earning lots of overtime for doing it. I’ve already thought of ways to spend the money, including buying pink paint for my living room walls and black paint for my bookshelves.

Chance exits the van and heads to the stairs. I hurry out of my apartment wearing breathable linen shorts and a Hello Kitty T-shirt, rolling my suitcase behind me, carrying a small bag on my shoulder that includes my snacks and earbuds and toiletries.

We meet halfway, him going up, me going down.

He’s wearing jeans despite the ninety-degree temperature, leather sandals that somehow make his feet look attractive, and a black T-shirt that matches his smoldering stare. Even though I’m not interested in him or his lips anymore, not in theslightest, I feel a little something when our eyes meet. More like a Batman-styleKapow!that implodes my insides. I cannot do this. Not for my boss. Not for time and a half.

“Do you want me to carry that?” Chance says, motioning to my suitcase.

I’m very disappointed in myself, because I say yes, like a Chanceling. I’m no better than bedhead Becky in the tight red dress that barely covered her booty.

The call of time and a half is really strong, though. It is. That’s my defense.

When I reach for the sliding door, Chance says, “Drew’s back there and he has gas.” He opens the rear hatch and stuffs my suitcase inside.

I do a quick sidestep and reach for the passenger side handle instead. “Of course he has gas,” I mutter. That’s what he gets for drinking all that whey powder. People should eat their protein, not drink it. Unless they’re drinking milk. Which also has lactose, which would probably give Drew gas.

“I am so looking forward to this,” I say as I slide into the front seat next to Chance whose hand is already on the shifter.

“Me too,” Chance says.

He doesn’t catch my sarcasm. Also, he’s staring at me. Is he going to do that the whole trip? If so, we might not make it to Atlanta.

After I strap in, Chance puts the van into drive. He maneuvers with one hand on the wheel and one hand on his phone. We’re still in the apartment complex, so I don’t complain. I just watch a little closer for rogue alligators and children on bikes.

We reach the main road and Chance’s attention is still divided. He hits the brake, checks the mirror to make sure no one is behind us, and keeps scrolling on his phone.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Looking for something to listen to. I hooked my phone up to the Bluetooth.”

“Can it not be–”

She Left Me for My Pickup Truckby The Rodeo Rascals cuts me off. The title and band name show up on the console touchscreen. That’s the only way I know.

Again, I keep my mouth shut, because music means Chance and I don’t have to talk. We head to Morgan’s, bathed in hillbilly music and Drew’s occasional farts. He’s true to his promise, though, napping lightly behind Chance.

Ten minutes later…

“No. Huh uh,” I say, referring to the next song,Love at the Cow-Tip Bingo, by the Prairie Dog Pranksters.

“Huh uh, what?”

“This isn’t even normal country. This is like Kidz Bop sings country on steroids. Who wrote these songs? Middle schoolers?”

“These are legitimate, popular country songs.”

“There is no way these are popular.” I lower my window a crack to diffuse the odor that just came from Drew’s butt crack, and then crane my neck to look at him. “Did you eat pork and beans for lunch?”

Drew opens one eye and then narrows it at me.

“You keep farting,” I say to make sure he knows he’s doing it.

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