Page 56 of Driftwood Daffodil 3

He shook his head and snickered, “you are the worst singer in the world.”

“But you kind of want to dance, don’t you?”

His eyes rolled, “I don’t dance to boy bands.”

“Everyone dances to boy bands.”

“Maybe if we were in the nineties.”

How great would that be? I go to a concert, scream like a lunatic, and throw my panties on stage. But sadly, those days were gone. All I had to work with now was my trusty cassette player and Atlee, who sure as hell was not getting my panties.

“How much coffee have you had?”

That was a trick question. “Do you mean before we left this morning, or when we stopped for breakfast?”

“I was wondering why you were so full of energy.”

Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have had that last cup. I was starting to feel a little jittery. In my defense I was nervous about seeing Kato, and Maw Maw hid her bourbon, so I was left with caffeine, which had absolutely no calming effects. But man was I awake.

“Can we at least change the music?” Atlee asked.

No we could not. All this energy had to go somewhere. “Driver picks the music and the passenger sucks it up.”

Did he see a fancy radio in here with Bluetooth and other crap? No. There was a tape deck. Our music choices were limited. I could always turn on the radio, but the only stations out here were religious, and the holy word of God might make Atlee explode. That was not a mess I wanted to clean up.

“We would’ve been more comfortable in my car.”

“No,” I said. “You would’ve been more comfortable.”

Not to mention, if I was going to operate a motor vehicle, then that vehicle better contribute to the pollution of this planet. Besides, who wanted to drive in a corvette anyway? Me that’s who, but Atlee wouldn’t let me.

“This thing is held together with duct tape.”

“Hey! Her name happens to be Gertrude, and I use glue too.” There were some small parts in this truck.

Atlee’s brow rose. “You named your truck Gertrude?”

“What else was I gonna call her? Princess?”

His eyes went from the cracked dashboard, to the tweed upholstered bench we were sitting on. “This shit is worse than wool. How do you fuck in here?”

“Um… I don’t.”

Not everyone used their vehicles as mobile hookup spots. Pretty sure if I shone a blacklight in the backseat of his car I’d go blind. God forbid anyone got killed back there. That would be a crime scene investigators nightmare.

“Gio hasn’t fucked you in here yet?”

What did he mean yet?

“Would you stop?” I pet the steering wheel. “Gertrude is a virgin.”

And she would stay that way.

Atlee shook his head. “No she’s not.”

“Just because you use your car as a cum dumpster, doesn’t mean I do.”

“You may not…” He tipped his head. “But who drove it before you?”

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