Page 42 of Ripped & Shipped
“For me?” Mildred nearly squeals. “You don’t have to! Thank you! Oh my gosh! You’re the sweetest! Can I just hug you?”
Drake chuckles and says, “Sure,” while Mildred’s already unbuckling and practically hauling her fifty-plus-year-old self over the console to hug Drake. That’s some hug. Mildred’s squeezing Drake, and Drake’s patting her back, saying, “Okay, then. You’re welcome, Mildred.”
I’m grateful she’s not hugging me. I might blow. I’m like that girl who insisted on eating the gum in Charlie and the Chocolate factory—until she turned into a blueberry from chewing, chewing, chewing all day long. You could definitely enter me in the county fair right now. If you could get me there.
Mildred finally releases Drake, and we all get out of the car. I’m nearly dizzy from all the fast food, and I’m definitely ready to get home, take off my makeup, and put on some cozy summer pjs.
“Come ‘mere,” Drake says, holding out his arms. “I’m so glad we did this together.”
Andy makes a show of packing up his equipment and loading it into the trunk of his car.
“Me too,” I say to Drake. “People are going crazy on my Insta account. I’d better hit the road. Thanks again.”
“I’ll be in touch. And Iwillsee you in Cali, beautiful.”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know.”
I’m not playing hard to get. I still need to think through what it would mean to go to the effort to take a trip out to California. There are a lot of details involved in making a trip like that.
Drake moves toward me and pulls me into a hug. He smooths his hand down my hair and holds me to his chest. His strong arms wrap around me and he bends down so his chin is resting on top of my head. It feels good to be hugged, but I’m not sure what he’s thinking, so I gently push back and say goodbye to him and Andy.
CHAPTER16
Chris
It’s been sucha weird week ever since Wednesday. My mind has settled the more time has passed since that evening with Ella Mae. I kicked myself a few times for not being more friendly when I saw her at the coffee shop. But it’s probably for the best. It’s not like we’re about to start hanging out.
I park my car on Aiden’s gravel driveway and walk up his porch steps to join my friends for guys’ night. Nothing could have prepared me for what I see on the big screen in the living room when I pop open the front door.
It’s me.
Ella Mae is wiping my larger-than-life face.
On an infinite loop.
As soon as she pulls back, smiling warmly, the scene begins again.
I turn to leave back the way I came in. Maybe no one heard me enter the house.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Duke shouts. “It’s the man of the hour, our own social media influencer, Mister Shoulders, the Big Boy himself, Chris St. James!”
I shake my head, chuckling. I’ve been on the other end of pranks like this, doling out the humiliation by shovels full. No one pulls pranks like a bunch of midwestern guys who’ve grown up together their whole lives. We don’t have many alternatives for entertainment out here. So, we play sports, and we excel at cornhole, gossip, and pranks.
And this one is the mother of all pranks. I can’t escape it now, I may as well ride it out with a smile that says they didn’t get to me—not at all.
“Hey, guys!” I say, walking into the kitchen as if I can’t see a gigantic version of my face filling the screen of Aiden’s monstrous living room TV.
“Oh, here he is!” Trevor shouts. “The man of mystery. But now. Now! The mystery is solved. What does Chris do when he goes away on Wednesdays? Well, folks, he goes to Frisch’s with none other than Ella Mae Lindstrom.”
Aiden’s arms are crossed over his chest. He’s leaning back on the counter eyeing me suspiciously, like someone abducted me and inserted an alien into what formerly was my body. It’s plausible. I was there, but I still don’t have any good explanation for what happened that night. Rob chuckles softly from across the room.
“Yep. You caught me. I’m on a weekly dinner date with Ella Mae. Now, do you old ladies have anything more interesting to do than scope out Ella Mae’s social media?”
“No, we actually don’t,” Trevor says with almost a pouty tone to his voice.
“Sad. Pathetic, actually,” I say, shaking my head in an exaggerated way.
The sound of Ella Mae and me talking continues to filter in from the living room. The infinite loop has ended and the actual post is being streamed through the TV at a not-so-quiet volume.
