Page 7 of Lucky Shot
“Cool. Cool. Plenty of time to see all that Moonshot has to offer. You’re in luck, it’s beautiful this time of year. It’s a little hot now that we’re in July, but better than shoveling snow, am I right?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m from Arizona. We don’t see a lot of snow.” Certainly not enough to shovel. Once, when Olivia and I were both still in high school, we got almost two inches at my parents’ house, and we were able to make snowballs and a very short snowman.
“Then you should feel right at home here.” He continues tapping as he adds, “I am going to hook you up with my favorite car on the lot.”
“Wow. That’s so nice.”
“I know,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone as he grabs a set of keys off a hook on the wall beside him and drops them on the counter in front of me. “You’re all set, Ruby. I hope you have an amazing time in Moonshot.”
“Thanks, Curtis.” A wave of fresh excitement washes over me as I pick up the key fob and flash him a grateful smile.
He leans forward over the counter. His dark eyes twinkle with amusement as he says, “My name isn’t really Curtis.”
“It’s not?” I feel my forehead crinkle as the guy stands tall again, still wearing an expression that is all boyish humor with a tinge of arrogance.
He shakes his head, then holds one hand up to cover the side of his mouth so no one can read his lips. “It’s Bobby but can’t have angry customers reporting me.”
For a change, I can’t think of a single thing to say. So, I wave the key fob, pick up my backpack, decidedly not filled with a human head, and leave the airport.
The first thing I notice in the rental car lot is that it is not, in fact, hot outside. Maybe it’s Montana hot, but it’s Arizona sweatshirt weather.
Cool wind whips across my bare shoulders. I’m not sure if I’m excited or stunned by this development. I don’t exactly love summers in Arizona, but I’m rethinking all the tube tops I packed.
I stop and let my hair out of its ponytail. The long strands cover my back and shoulders, and I lift my head to the sun. A smile spreads across my face at the clouds dotting the sky. Big, fluffy white clouds that look like they’ve been crafted out of cotton balls and placed lovingly amidst the painted blue sky for aesthetics.
A car alarm beeps somewhere in the lot, bringing me back to the present. It hits me then I have absolutely no idea what car I’m looking for. I glance down at the key fob. Attached to it is a plastic keychain with the words “Mini Convertible” scribbled in permanent marker. I look up and scan the lot.
“No,” I say at the exact moment I spot the vehicle that I am certain is mine for the next month and a half. I hit the unlock button and beam as the lights flicker on the car.
Curtis, aka Bobby’s, favorite vehicle on the lot is a lime green MINI Cooper with black stripes down the hood. In a sea of mostly black, white, and the occasional blue or red vehicles, it most definitely sticks out. It screams summer and fun and adventure, carefree days, fun nights. It’s over the top. It’s flashy. It’s the kind of vehicle that is impossible not to notice. In any other situation I would be horrified, but not today. And not this summer.
It feels like a good omen. The perfect car to turn things around – metaphorically, although I bet it turns like a dream too.
“I think I misjudged you, Bobby,” I say quietly as I approach the vehicle.
Somehow the closer I get, the more in love with it I fall. Even as I struggle to fit my large roller suitcase in the trunk. If I had to choose between all my packed essentials (tube tops are absolutely an essential) and this car, I’d…pick my essentials but I would be sad about it.
Once my luggage is stowed, I pull out my phone and snap a selfie of me standing next to the vehicle, then fire it off to my sister with the words, “Hot Girl Summer Has Commenced!”
3
NICK
“Dad?” I call as I step into the house from the garage. It’s silent, but the lights are on in the living room and the smell of fresh coffee hangs in the air.
When I don’t get an answer, I peek in to see if he’s asleep in my favorite recliner. The one I bought even though he told me it was too big for the room and that he now sits in more than I do.
There’s no sign of him as I drop my duffel bag on the floor of the entryway and cross through to the kitchen.
Exhaustion from a week of conditioning camp and the red-eye flight home hits me hard. I’m pouring a cup of coffee when I finally hear footsteps coming down the stairs. I turn with my mug in hand as he appears in the doorway. He has on headphones, the over the ear, noise-cancelling ones we got him for Christmas last year. Aidan picked them out so they’re bright red—my son’s favorite color—and the sight of my un-tech savvy dad wearing them still brings a smile to my lips even six months later.
His eyes widen when he spots me and his steps falter. He recovers quickly, pulling the headphones down around his neck.
“Son. What are you doing here?” he asks with a smile that falls almost as fast as it forms. “You aren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow.”
“I took an earlier flight.” Amusement threatens to lift one corner of my mouth, but I’m too tired. “Good to see you too.”
“Sorry. You surprised me. Welcome home. How was Texas?”
