Page 60 of Grease Monkey
“I’m gonna head out,” he says, swiping the keys to the tow truck from my desk. “I need some seriously strong coffee if I’m going to last the night.”
I tilt my head back, seeing his upside-down profile checking himself out in a mirror.
“You know you don’t have to stay up the whole night? Only need to move your butt outta bed if you get called.”
“Yeah, I know.” He smirks, winking at me from the mirror. “But Roseann is working tonight. It’s her night to do the night shift, and Thursdays are usually dead. Soo…” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You might not be the only one whose eyes roll back into their head tonight.”
Coming over, he leans down, going in for a kiss like that scene in Spiderman when he’s hanging upside down, and Mary Jane pulls down his mask before they make-the-fuck-out in the rain. Tilting my head, I roll out from the seat, managing to save the beers as Ozzy clicks his fingers in mock disappointment.
“Damn, so close,” he says. “I’ll kiss you on the lips one day, Vivienne.”
“Who?”
“The prostitute fromPretty Woman.”I stare blankly. Ozzy groans. “You’re so uncultured! Julia Roberts’s character never kisses theJohnsuntil rich and handsome Richard Gere comes along. Thenbang, they kiss, fall in love, and live happily ever after.”
“Sounds like a load of shit to me.”
That and the fact that I’ve already made the mistake of doing that once before.
Never again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Morgana
“Tell me why I didn’t push harder not to go?” I whine into the empty car, rubbing at my tired eyes. ‘Push harder’…yeah, right, when I didn’t put up any fight to begin with.
But maybe doing the whole two thousand, four hundred odd mile drive alone wasn’t the most brilliant idea I could have had. My back aches, my butt is numb, and the lights in the middle of the interstate are starting to blur.
“From what you said, I don’t think you had a choice.” Richard’s voice fills the car from the speaker, and I relax into my seat. He’s right, I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I needed to roll over with my belly up. “Besides, by the time you get home, it will be less than two months until you become Mrs. Morgana Atkinson.”
Mrs.
Why does that thought make my stomach clench?
“Are you sure we can’t elope? Run away and get married, just the two of us?” I joke, my already too-tight fingers gripping the wheel harder, slick with sweat as I think of my upcoming nuptials.
He chuckles, unaware that his future wife is panicking with every waking minute that the clock ticks. “Your mother would have a heart attack if we had a Vegas wedding. Could you imagine? She’d think you were pregnant out of wedlock, or something equally scandalous.” He gasps, and I can picture him signing the cross as he mimics my mother while my hand subconsciously flies to my empty belly, and I shudder at the thought of having his baby… right now. “And let’s not even mention my mom. One can only hope she’d have a heart attack if we eloped.”
“Richard!” I cry, biting my cheek to stop laughing, my mood lightening a fraction.
Richard’s mom is a witch. A mean, bad-tempered old witch who thinks the sun shines out of her other son’s butt. It’s no wonder she and my mom are friends. But when it comes to this wedding, the mothers are likewedding-zillas, mom-zillas? Either way, neither can be outdone by the other.
My mom wants roses for centerpieces. Daphne wants ice sculptures.
My mom wants a string quartet. Daphne wants a children’s choir.
When Mom suggested a champagne reception, Daphne insisted on Oscietra caviar canapés, imported from London, made with a bubble gold roesti that made the extremely overpriced appetizer look like a ring. Seriously, out of all those words, does anyone know what that food is?
Skip would. Too bad he RSVP’d no to the invite. Not that I could blame him. After that fantastic night in New York, when I saw him after years, our relationship became even more strained.
“I’m joking, sweetheart,” Richard sighs wistfully. “But she wouldn’t be acting this way if it were George and Penelope’s wedding she was planning…”
And I’d probably be more invested if it wasn’t my wedding too.
I clutch at my chest at the painful, solid lump rising in my throat. Did it suddenly get hard to breathe? Gasping, I press the button on the door panel, gulping in the cool night air as the window slowly slides down and out of sight. My pulse beats like a drum, echoing in my ears as my neck grows clammy. I slide my arm under my hair, holding it up and letting the breeze filter around my body.
“Morgana? Sweetheart? Are you still there?”
