Page 27 of Pucking Matt
“Give him the keys,” she demands.
I look at the guy and assess his long beard and large build. “Fuck no, I’m not giving him the keys tomytruck!”
“The hell you are!” the guys says.
Another person pulls in. “Is this the truck for sale?”
Everyone in the crowd says, “The truck’s not for sale.”
Amber attempts to walk back into the café, but I grab her. “Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere. Amber.” I tug her towards the guys. “Tell them what this is here.”
“What?” she murmurs. “No.”
“You’re not leaving me out here with this mess. Now tell them.”
We’re all staring at her, waiting to hear her explanation. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Whenever he decides to change his mind, I’ll be sure to tell you guys first. But please, excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
“She’s a little–” I twirl my finger around my ear to say she’s crazy. “Doesn’t like me living my own life. She doesn’t like that I have my independence.”
When one of the fellows starts complaining, I say, “Report her for scamming you.”
The guy with the beard finally leaves, complaining as he does.
I lock my truck and jog back into the Grind Stone. I tell Harvey that I need to leave. He’s going to stay and finish some things, so I grab my unfinished sandwich and bolt before another load of people show up.
I slide into my truck, still shaking my head at the audacity of Amber's prank. As I pull out of the parking lot, leaving behind a confused group of would-be truck buyers, I can't help but appreciate her creativity. Here I was, thinking she'd resort to something petty like sugar in my gas tank or a nail in my tire. But this? This was next-level scheming.
The drive home gives me time to process what just happened. I hate to admit it, but I'm impressed. Amber's got more game than I gave her credit for. We're entering the big leagues of pranking.
I walk into the house, lost in thought, when the smell of something burning snaps me back to reality. Following the scent, I find Zack in the kitchen, surrounded by a cloud of smoke.
“Dude,” I cough, waving my hand in front of my face. “What died in here?”
Zack looks up from the charred remains of what I assume was once food. “My dreams of being a chef, apparently.”
I can't help but laugh. “Maybe stick to your day job.”
As Zack scrapes his disaster into the trash, he asks how hockey is going. When I talk to people who know nothing about hockey, I don’t get into much detail.
Zack asks, “You think you'll go pro?”
I shrug, trying to play it cool even as my heart rate picks up at the thought. “Who knows? But I'm not giving up until I do.”
Zack nods approvingly. “That's the spirit. You've got the skills, man. It's just a matter of time.”
Our conversation is interrupted by a knock at the door. Zack and I exchange glances. He shrugs, clearly not expecting anyone.
I head to the door, curiosity piqued. When I open it, I'm greeted by a guy in a red shirt and orange shorts.
“Matt?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah?”
“Uber Eats,” he says, handing over two bags that smell way better than whatever Zack was attempting to cook. “And the app says you're going to pay cash.” He glances at my empty hands. “Do you need a minute?”
I blink, confusion setting in. “I didn't order anything.”
The guy nods, unfazed. “You did. Or actually it was Amby. She mentioned you did not have the time to order it yourself, so she did it for you so that you can focus on yourself tonight.”
