Page 34 of Plunge

“What do you have? A minivan?”

I snort and shove him. “I’ll have you know,” I say, “I drive a Mercedes Benz 300 SL.”

“Shut the hell up,” he blurts out. “You do not.” A Gullwing is a vintage race car. “My fucking dream car?”

I glare at him. “I certainly do. Only it’s stuck in the parking garage of my building and I need to figure out how to get there to move it before Monday or it’s going to get towed when they paint.”

“So just go there and get it,” he says, like it’s that simple. “You can’t let them tow a fucking Gullwing, Thistle.”

“I know,” I shout, then crumple back against the seat with a sigh. “But Mom has therapy tomorrow and Saturday and…” I pull out my phone and consult my calendar. “Sunday we have a home assessment for ADL…whatever that stands for.”

“I’ll go,” he blurts out. “I’ll go and get the car.”

I snort, and then throw my head back, laughing out loud. “Yeah right. I haven’t talked to you in ten years and I’m going to let you drive my precious? I don’t think so.”

“Thistle.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and the other over his heart. “I dick around about a lot of things in this world. But I would never, ever let anything bad happen to a classic beauty. A Gullwing! Jesus. It was the sports car of the century! You know I work in the industry, right?”

I squint. “I heard something about you and racing sports.”

“I swear on my brother’s house I will deliver your car to you safely.”

“Your brother’s house? Not your own house?”

He flashes me one of those grins I never could resist. “Just checking if you’re paying attention. Now how am I getting your keys?”

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