Page 48 of The Most Perfect Wrong

“Okay, well, if the vibes are off, let’s get the hell out of here. I’m starved,” I say, my patience running thin.

Cooper shrugs. “I guess we’re done for the day.”

Kellie walks us out. “I’ll see you two bright and early tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, see you then. Thanks, Kellie,” Cooper says, waving.

Once we’re in the car, Cooper slides into the passenger seat and immediately turns to me. “Well, you were rude.”

“I wasn’t rude. I just don’t want to waste any time.” I grip the steering wheel. “You know, maybe tomorrow we can bring a psychic along. Get some expert opinions on these ‘vibes’ you keep talking about.”

She lets out a sharp laugh. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were so into expert opinions, Ryan. Maybe I should call my friend—she’s a therapist. She might be able to help you.”

“Oh, you’re a comedian now too. What hat will you be wearing for the rest of the trip, Cooper? Because I never know which version of you is going to show up.”

“Oh, God. You’re just such a lonely, middle-aged man who desperately needs to get laid.”

I scoff. “Oh, that’s original. Maybe I should give Kellie a call. She seemed more than eager to help me out with that. But wait, I forgot. I’m gay.”

She bursts into uncontrollable laughter. “Oh my God, you heard that?” She doubles over, struggling to breathe.

I can’t help but laugh along with her. That laugh—so unexpectedly cute—brings me back to the first time I heard it, and I feel myself softening toward her despite everything.

She sits up, wiping tears from her cheeks, struggling to contain herself. “Oh, God. That’s good stuff.”

We ride in silence for a few minutes, Morgan Wallen playing in the background, Bluetoothed from my phone. Cooper grabs my phone, swipes up, and holds it in front of my face for facial recognition.

“What are you doing?” I ask, suspicious.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m playing DJ.”

“But I like this song.”

“Well, I don’t,” she replies with a scowl. “I’m not exactly a big fan of country.”

“Okay… So what are you putting on?”

“Something fun. You’ll see.” She types into my phone, a grin spreading across her face. “You need to loosen up.”

“I’m loose.”

She glances at me, unconvinced. “You will be in a minute when I hit you with this banger playlist.”

Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” starts playing, and she begins bopping to the beat.

“Are you ready for this, VP? Come on, I know you know this song. Everyone your age knows it.”

“Oh, I know it,” I say.

“But do you know it better than I do? Because we’re about to have a rap-off.”

I laugh. “I know every word. You’re going down.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

We both start in, “His palms are sweaty,” neither of us missing a beat. By the chorus, she cranks up the volume, and we’re rapping as loud as we can. We make eye contact mid-song and both burst into laughter. She can’t rap anymore, too caught up in the moment, but I keep going, nailing every word.

I point at her, letting her know I’m still in the game, finishing the song with a triumphant grin. “Whoo! Damn!” I clap my hands together. “Did I win? I think I won.”

---