Page 53 of Married with Mayhem

In the end, I’m not completely wrong.

We do make it almost all the way across Kansas. However, hopes and prayers don’t fix a faulty transmission. When theImpala finally takes a dump we’re right outside some town called Colby in the northwestern quadrant of the state.

A tow truck brings us to a local mechanic. The owner of the place is a classic car specialist and after some quick diagnostics he’s sure he can handle the job. I offer him double the rate if he’ll make it a priority and he nods his head. But still, he’s about to close up shop for the night and can’t promise the work will be finished until the day after tomorrow.

Not ideal but it could be worse.

Unfortunately, there’s a lack of motel rooms in town due to a quilting convention. The one place where there’s a vacancy has only one room available. The room has two queen-sized beds but still…

I’m facing two nights alone in a motel room with Sabrina. And I’m starting to think whoever pulls the strings in this universe has a really raunchy sense of humor plus a determination to drop this girl right into my lap.

Sabrina whips out her bank card and hands it over to the front desk before I can object. Apparently, while I was fretting about other things, the whole cyberattack problem was fixed. Planes are flying again. Sabrina’s bank is back online.

“And I’m paying for the car repairs,” she informs me. “No arguments.”

The hell she is. And no, there will be no arguments because she’snotpaying for my car. End of story.

The sky is dark by now and there’s a Mexican food restaurant next to the motel where we can sit down to dinner. While we’re waiting for our food it occurs to me that this might be the longest stretch of time I’ve ever spent with a girl and failed to fuck her. The fact that this milestone has been achieved with the forbidden girl I’m becoming borderline obsessed with is kind of a weird irony.

Sabrina spends the dinner hour updating both of her sisters in great detail via text. I spend it drinking too many beers and picturing my dick in her mouth.

It’s only when the buzz starts to hit me after the fifth beer that I realize I’ve made a mistake. This isn’t a good night to dull my wits. After I take a trip to the restroom, I return to find that Sabrina has ordered a margarita.

Great. Let’s both get drunk and then go back to our motel room. What could go wrong?

She starts to smile when I reclaim my seat but it turns into a puzzled frown when she takes a look at my face. “Who pissed you off?” she says.

“I’m not pissed.” I hail the waitress for another beer. I know it’s a bad idea. I wonder what other bad ideas I’ll indulge in before the night is over.

Sabrina raises her eyebrows but makes no comment and sips her drink. My next beer arrives. I drain the whole thing in thirty seconds and order a whiskey shot, which I swallow before considering all the very good reasons why I shouldn’t.

The screens above the bar are showing a baseball game. The Royals versus the Yankees. I haven’t been paying attention this season and I have no idea what the standings are.

Sabrina orders a second margarita. If she wants to have a drinking contest, that’s a game she won’t win. Another inning starts and I mark it by ordering another beer.

“Monte?” Sabrina says, somewhat timidly. Her hand lands on my forearm. She keeps her pale pink painted nails short, probably because she spends so much time typing on her computer. Her hands are small and pretty. Everything about her is pretty.

I haven’t been truly drunk in ages and I’m no longer used to holding my liquor. The thoughts in my head run together like fresh paint in the rain.

But when I raise my eyes to meet hers, I have no trouble focusing, noticing every detail of her face. The touch of green in her hazel eyes. A faint splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

She leans forward, observing me with obvious concern. A curtain of thick brown hair falls over her shoulder.

I want to touch her soft hair and then run my thumb over her full lower lip.

I want to finger her right here under the table and watch her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment and pleasure.

“You seem upset,” she says.

The chirpy waitress stops by to ask if we need anything else. Sabrina flashes the girl a quick smile and says we’re fine. Her hand remains on my arm.

Sabrina leans in even closer and keeps her voice low. “Did you hear some bad news from New York?”

New York. Where some batshit mobster is lying in wait to gun me down because I kicked his ass after he touched Sabrina.

Anni was right. I should have killed the bastard.

However, I honestly wasn’t thinking about Lenny Lombardo at all just now.

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