Page 3 of The Idiot

He snorts in protest, but starts trotting to the house as Jesse beams in victory. I walk around to the truck’s passenger side, brushing at a smudge on my white tank top and buttoning my work shirt over my chest. I’m still lumbering inside—my ass isn't even on the seat yet—and Jesse starts driving, turf flying behind us. I manage to get my door shut without falling out, but cock a brow at him.

“Hungry, are we?”

“I don’t want to miss them!”

“Miss who?”

“Pete and his ‘guest.’”

Why he makes air quotes, I have no clue. I should have figured his extrasquirrelly-nessmeant Pete was home for the weekend. He always ups his fuckery game whenever his brother’s in town.

“We’re meeting your brother for lunch? You could have at least let me go in the house to clean up.”

His mischievous laugh clashes with the squeal of Van Halen’s guitar on the radio as he pulls out onto the road. “Oh, big bro issobeyond noticing germs today. Let’s just say he’s…preoccupied.”

I wasn’t referring to his brother’s OCD, but rather the fact that Pete is always impeccably put together, and I look like I just came from a lumberjack sauna. Wiping the sweat from my brow on my sleeve will have to do.

We hit a pothole, making the lace G-string on Jesse’s rearview sway back and forth. It’s blue. The last one was pink. Must be a new one. Not that I’m surprised. It’s honestly a perfect complement to the swimsuit model mini calendar stuck to his dash. I am in a moving box of testosterone. Maybe Ican’tdo this today, after all. The Van Halen’s got to go, at the very least.

“Are you going to speak in riddles the entire time?” I ask, adjusting his radio dial.

“Pleasenot country,” he moans, my question forgotten. If he knew what I truly wanted to listen to, he’d really be protesting.

“Delores runs better on rock,” he adds, patting the dash.

The relationship he has with this vehicle should be disturbing. I have to remind him often that it’s not a person.

Delores suddenly lurches forward, her engine revving. My torso is pressed back into the seat from the force as the scenery flashes by in quick succession.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s them!” he squawks, pointing at a black sedan up ahead that turns out of his parents’ orchard. “Ha! Watch this. He’s going to besopissed off.”

Gripping theoh-shithandle, I brace myself as we speed dangerously close to what looks like his brother’sLexus. I can see the top of a blonde head belonging to a man in the passenger seat.

Great. We’re not just going to kill Pete, but someone else as well. I am so glad I stopped working for this.

“What if something runs out in front of him and he has to slam on the brakes? I don’t feel like spending the rest of the season in traction just so you can fuck with your brother.”

“You’re a war veteran. Nothing should scare you, least of all me and Delores.”

“It’s not Delores I’m worried about. It’s acts of nature. You don’t fuck with nature. Need I remind you of the badger incident?”

“No,” he sulks. “You know I’ve asked you not to talk about that.”

His adamant reply and the childlike fear in his expression have me chuckling, relieving some of the tension from my body. A hand connects with my shoulder in a quick slap.

“You fucker.” He laughs. “I miss you.”

That… shouldn’t make me feel all warm inside. I see his stupid mug all the time, and when I don’t, we text. Usually nothing of substance, but I’ve always taken a perverse pride in being the person Jesse wants to tell about his day and share his absurd thoughts.

“You saw me Wednesday night,” I remind him, turning my gaze to the passing scenery as we head into town, still on Pete’s ass.

“No, I mean it’s picking season. We don’t get to hang out as often.”

“I’m sure you sat at home all by your lonesome, bored out of your mind without me. Besides, we text every day.”

“Fine!” He cackles. “I’m needy. Rub it in. I just have to make sure you don’t run off and join the foreign legion or something. As your best friend, it’s my job to make sure you don’t do anything stupid again.”

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