Page 150 of Happy Hour

“No, I’m not...Ionlyhave strawberry.”

“Why does your breath smell like blueberries then?”

“I have blueberry tooth paste.”

Jameson scrunched his nose. “That’s...disgusting.”

“No it’s not.” I smiled showing my sparkly white teeth, praying there wasn’t any blueberry pop tart in them. “It’s delicious.”

“If I find out it’s a blueberry pop tart, you’re introuble.” He warned.

Once his grip on my arms was free, I ran. I ran for all I was worth. I heard his laughter behind me with the pop tart in his hands but I kept running until I collided with Lucas in the living room.

“Oh...sorry,” I mumbled helping him up.

He scowled, grumbling something along the lines of “Watch where you going,” and plopped down on the couch with Mr. Jangles.

How rude.

“There you are,” Jameson grabbed me from behind wrapping his arms around me—I could smell the blueberries on his breath. “You’rein trouble.”

“Ugghhh...” Lucas grumbled. “Didn’t you two get enough yesterday!” He draped his blanket over his face.

“What was that Lucas?” Jameson still hadn’t forgiven them.

Lucas didn’t say anymore but pulled Mr. Jangles on his lap, for protection I assumed. It’s not like Mr. Jangles offered all that much protection these days. He may sit on you but as far as defense mechanisms go; Mr. Jangles had none, other than his thirty-five pounds. Now if you were let’s say a mouse, you were shit out of luck, he’d crush you.

It took a really long time to get ready to go camping.

For one, Jameson did in fact cut the tree down but when it landed on the red dragon, I cried.

I got that truck when I turned sixteen and she’d treated me well. Yes, she would sometimes stop running on the freeway, and occasionally leave me stranded but she loved me. We had some good times together. These “good times” not including the time I lost my virginity in it to Dylan Grady. Dylan was not my best decision and one of those times I could really look back and say, “That’s where you went wrong.”

After destroying the red dragon, Jameson looked as though he was going to cry himself when he realized his lumberjack skills were seriously lacking.

“I’m so sorry, honey.” Jameson whispered in my ear sitting on the tailgate with me. “So sorry,” His arm draped loosely over my shoulders.

The red dragon was junk now. The tree landed right across the cab of my primer red 1979 Ford F-150. Poor ole girl.

“S’okay,” I hiccupped, another cry broke through.

Jameson lifted me onto his lap. “How many more times am I going to make you cry?” Shaking his head in disappointment, his gaze was fixated on the broken branches surrounding us.

“Really Jameson—it’s fine. I needed to get another car anyways.”

“It’snotokay, Sway.” His head bowed. “I’m buying you another one.”

“You’renotbuying me a car, Jameson.”

“You don’t have a say in this, it’s already done.” He pointed to the road towards a silver car parked at the end of the driveway. “It’s yours.”

“Where’d you get that?” Squinting into the bright sun, I could faintly see a Subaru. “That wasn’t there earlier.”

“I rented it when I got here.” He told me. “When I killed red dragon, I called Subaru and bought it.”

“Why?” I looked up at his sad eyes.

He shrugged. “I can be an asshole, but I refuse to be an assholeallthe time.”

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