He leans across the seat, attempting a fist bump, and even though I’m not really feeling it, I return it with as much faked enthusiasm as I can manage.
For the rest of the ride, Dougall stays glued to his phone as I stare out the window, trying to make sense of a world where palm trees are wrapped with red and white Christmas lights so they look like candy canes, and Plum Bailey shuns me instead of me shunning her. And when Sparks pulls into a Starbucks drive-thru, mumbling something about maintaining my privacy and not causing a scene by actually going inside and standing in line, all I know is that the limo barely fits in the lane. But Sparks is a pro, and before we know it, Dougall and I are sipping for free thanks to the girl working the window who totally freaked when I popped through the sunroof and waved.
I might as well enjoy the good parts of the dream while they’re there for the taking.
Then again, for the very first time it occurs to me that if this is a dream, that means I fell asleep on the bus-stop bench, and if I don’t wake up soon, I’ll probably end up freezing to death.
“Nice move.” Dougall pulls his straw from the slot and starts gnawing on the end. “When’s the last time you actually paid for one of these, or anything else, for that matter?”
“Well, I did sign her arm. Seems like a fair trade, right?” I blow little puffs of air at the top of my cup and take a tentative first sip that’s so bad I can’t help but gag.
“You serious about not putting milk or sweetener in that?” Dougall wags his straw at my drink. “Dude, that’s a quintuple shot. That’s one serious brew you got there.”
“I don’t want to dilute it,” I say, having no idea if that’s even possible, since it’s not like I’m a regular coffee drinker. In fact, I can’t stand the stuff. But I figure it’s the best and quickest way to wake up, which I’m still determined to do, since I already tried pinching myself. I mean, it’s either that or death by hypothermia.
I force another sip. A few more follow. Fully aware that the sooner I empty this cup, the sooner I’ll be back on that frozen Greentree bus stop bench. Most likely frostbitten, but at least it gives me something to work with as opposed to outright dead.
“Jonah’s hosting a party.” Dougall shows me his phone, and I squint at a long row of texts I can’t read. “Do you think we should go?”
His expression turns serious, like this is something to be carefully debated and considered. But all I can do is wonder if the Jonah he’s talking about is Jonah, as in the Superfamous Model/Actor Jonah Who’s on Every Magazine Cover.
“Then again, his last party was kind of lame. Not sure we should chance that again.” Dougall taps his chin with his straw, staring hard at the screen, as though the answer might be hidden somewhere.
I nod like I remember the lame party and take another sip, waiting for the moment the caffeine will take effect.
“Then again, he is calling it An Aloha Christmas! And he clearly states that it’s a luau theme. All of which is pretty genius, if you think about it. It practically requires every girl to show up wearing a grass skirt and a bikini….” He shoots me a sideways look. “Kinda hard to snub an invite like that. Am I right, or am I right?”
He leans in for another fist bump, but I’m really kind of over it, so I segue into the conversation I’d much rather have. “Speaking of, um, hot girls…what do you know about Tinsley Barnes?”
Dougall squints. “Ezer’s daughter?”
“Niece.”
He thinks harder, eyes narrowing so much they’re nearly invisible. “Yeah, she’s hot. She’s no Plum Bailey. But yeah, I can see it.” He focuses back on his phone as though the conversation is over, but I’m just getting started.
“Yeah, but what do we know about her? You know, other than her indisputable hotness and all.”
“We?”
“You. Me. We. Whatever. Who is she exactly?”
“You mean aside from the obvious—a hot girl who lives with Ezer?” Dougall frowns, as though asking him to make the switch to something a little more substantial than his internal hotness scale is going too far.
“Yeah. Like, what’s her story? What are her interests? Is she dating anyone?” The last bit is presented like an afterthought, not all that important and definitely not my main reason for mentioning her.
Dougall’s expression now borders on annoyed. “I don’t know, dude. Why don’t you ask Ezer?”
“Because I can’t.”
He looks at me.
“You know how Ezer gets. He’s all over my case,” I say, since I can’t exactly explain the truth: that I’m starting to feel the effects of my quintuple shot, which means I won’t be long in this dream world and none of this will matter anyway.
Dougall laughs and abandons his phone. Finally.
“We’re doing a song together,” I tell him. “Tinsley and me.”
I like the way it sounds—Tinsley and me. So in my head I say it again.
“You serious? You think that’s a good career move?”