"Got the McLaren. It's at the warehouse."
"I don't care about the car. The ring is worth twice as much."
"There's a little problem. It's still on his finger."
"No you didn't..."
"Where did you put him?"
I want to sing something from "Phantom", but Maggie told me not to because that's what everyone else is doing. It doesn't matter. I won't get the lead. I just want to get in so I can be in the dance scene.
It had been years, but with one sip I tasted everything. Marlboro Lights mixed with bonfire smoke. Roasted marshmallows. Horseshoes in fresh cut grass. Crickets chirping before a late storm. And the salty taste of his lips. The summer I'll always remember.
"It's been down to here," he gestured to his fourth shirt button. "But a couple years ago I trimmed it short." I stroked its current length, an inch or so, well-groomed and fragrant. I gave it a tug and kissed his cheek.
I came to in the passenger seat, head throbbing. Bruised, probably. Keys vanished; him too.
I deserved it. We began intimately, but my last recollection was rage. Forgive me, I silently pleaded.
My phone chimed. Desperately, I swiped and read.