Page 143 of Broken Lines

“I….uh…” I shrug. “I don’t know. Nothing.”

“No TV?”

“No?”

“What’d you read, then?”

My brow furrows. “What is this?”

“This, my friend, is the Spanish fucking Inquisition. Because you’re full of shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Mel,please. You’re not seriously going to tell me with a straight face that you spent a week up there just sitting in a motel room staring at the wall.”

“But that’s…basically what I did?”

“Dude. Bull. Fucking. Shit. You one hundred percent got laid.”

“I did not!”

“What was he? Sexy rough and tumble lobsterman? Lumberjack? Are there lumberjacks in Maine?”

“I mean…probably?”

“Don’t make me pick the low hanging ‘big wood’ joke, Mel.”

I snort a laugh as I shake my head.

“You’re insane.”

“And you, despite being sucker-punched by Judy and unceremoniously booted from your brand-new job, have this…glow on you.”

“I’m tipsy. It’s the whiskey.”

“Spelled D-I-C-K.”

“Do you need new triple-A batteries for your vibrator?”

She flips me off.

“Okay,A, his name is James Dean.”

“You didn’t seriously name your—”

“AndB,” she ticks a finger, cutting me off. “He takes double-A’s.” She smirks. “Also don’t go into my bedside table anymore, creeper.”

“I was looking for the headphones you borrowed.”

She grins, eyeing me.

“Who.”

“No one.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “Well, can I at least make a suggestion?”

“Will you make this suggestion anyway, no matter how I answer that?”

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