Chapter 4
I’ve Got Your Ride, Big Boy
Max
“Istill can’t believe you’re leaving me, Max!” Timantha screeches into the phone.
“Tim, we have been over this. You and your girls have been gallivanting across the globe in private jets, drinking champagne out of designer shoes. Meanwhile, I’ve been at the office keeping your company afloat. It’s my turn.”
“They weren’t designer shoes,” she mutters under her breath. “Who’s gonna get bulgogi with me on Wednesdays?”
“Your husband, Tim. That’s who.”
She gasps. “Will? Please. You know he’s only good for back rubs and brunch. Not lunch-lunch.”
“Yeah, well, he’s about to become your Wednesday bulgogi buddy so I can enjoy this time off. And for the love of God, do not do anything nasty on my desk while I’m gone.”
“Oh hush. You know Will’s too big to fit on your desk.”
“Ick. TMI.”
She snorts. “Oh honey, you know I’d never defile your desk like that.”
“You better not,” I say, shuddering.
She shifts gears. “Do you have your list of authors you want to see while you’re at the conference?”
“Yes.”
“Spare luggage for all the books you’re going to buy?”
I roll my eyes like she can see me. “Yes, Mom.”
“I’m just making sure you’re set up for success and smut. You deserve this trip.”
I sigh. “I know. I just wish Eslin could’ve come.”
“Aww. I thought this was your beloved girl's trip!”
“It was,” I tell Timantha. “But Eslin is sick, so now it’s just me. And as an unapologetic nerd, I’m very familiar with flying solo.”
“Well, I don’t like it,” she says. “I want you safe.”
I’ve reached the border now, cars lined up and inching toward the security checkpoint.
“It’s Canada, Tim,” I say. “I’m not wandering into drug cartel territory. The biggest threat here is being hugged too hard by a polite stranger.”
“That’s how they get you,” she says darkly. “You’re an American traveling into enemy territory.”
“Timantha,” I laugh. “It’s Canada and I’m a Black woman. They’re probably going to offer me sympathy citizenship.”
We’re both laughing when there’s a sharp knock on my window. I jump, nearly dropping my phone, and turn to find a large, very serious man in uniform staring straight at me.
“Hold on, Tim,” I say as I roll down the window.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. Passport, please?”
“Absolutely!” I chirp, digging into my bag. In the process, my phone slips off my lap and crashes to the floor.
“Shit!” I blurt, then glance up at the officer. “Sorry.”
I spot my passport, grab it, and scoop up my phone in one swift, not-at-all graceful motion.
“Ma’am?” the officer prompts, one eyebrow lifting.
I look up. Then down at my hand.
And freeze.
My eyes widen in horror.
I’ve handed him a tampon.
“Ack! Oh my God, no—sorry!” I snatch it back, fling it blindly into the backseat like it’s on fire, and shove the actual passport into his hand. “Here you go!”
He opens it without a flicker of emotion. “Purpose of your visit?”
“The biggest event of the year!” I say brightly, hoping enthusiasm will erase the tampon from his memory.
He stares at me.
“RomantiComiCon,” I add. “A conference for people obsessed with romance novels.”
Nothing. He taps something into a small electronic tablet and keeps going.
“How long do you plan on staying in the country?”
“For the week,” I say quickly. “Through the weekend. Leaving Tuesday. Staying at the Odyssey Hotel where the conference is.”
“Bringing any alcohol, tobacco, or cannabis with you?”
I blink. “Wait…people can bring weed into Canada?” Timantha’s mom would love it here.
His eyebrow twitches.
“I mean—no! No, sir. Nothing to declare except my unrelenting enthusiasm. Officer.”
He does a slow lap around my rental, probably wondering how a grown woman can be this enthusiastic about a book convention. Eventually, he hands back my passport and waves me through.
I glance down at my phone and pick it up. “Tim, you still there?”
“Of course I am. I had to make sure you didn’t get arrested.”
“Seriously, you’ve got to stop watching true crime and reading all that dark romance. Not every encounter ends in a tawdry escapade with kidnapping or capturing…or sexing. Smut is turning you into someone I worry about.”
“Whatever. You don’t complain when you’re reading the same smut as the rest of us.”
“I mean, I partake,” I admit. “But the billionaires don’t do it for me. I think I’m starting to prefer my men…a little rugged.”
“Excuse me?”
I lean into the fantasy, because Timantha and her friends seem convinced the only men worth wanting are dominant billionaires with unlimited amounts of money and too much ego. I want something different.
“I don’t know, Tim. I’ve been getting into small-town cowboy romances, and I think I’m starting to like the ones with rough hands and a soft heart,” I say.
“I picture my car breaking down on a quiet country road. A beat-up pickup pulls over, and the handsome man, who also happens to be the town mechanic, leans into the window and says, ‘You need a ride?’ And I say, ‘I’ve got your ride, big boy.’”
Timantha smacks her lips. “Oh God.”
“Then he takes me to his garage-slash-house, makes me pancakes, and ravishes me on the hood of his truck—”
“MAXINE!”
“What!?” I screech.
“Not truck sex, Max. That’s just dirty and tetanus.”
I shrug, passing a Welcome to Canada sign. “A little dirt ain’t never hurt nobody, honey.”
She groans dramatically. “I need to jump into a meeting, but what’s the code for the website? I have to make a few updates while you’re away and pull some data for Sunday’s board meeting.”
I narrow my eyes at the windshield like she can feel my judgment through the phone. “What did I tell you about working on a Sunday?”
She exhales like I’m the difficult one. “That Sundays are for giving thanks and zero fucks.”
“Exactly. So why are you acting like I raised you wrong?”
“Because, darling—badassery never sleeps.”
I can’t help but laugh. Classic Timantha. She runs at a pace most people couldn’t survive, and somehow expects the same from me. But to be fair, she never demands more from anyone than what she demands of herself. I respect the hell out of that.
“Your birthday and your favorite word: badassery.”
“Maxine! That’s so easy to guess. What if we get hacked for real?”
“We won’t. There is a failsafe and I only changed your password for the week so you don’t forget it and break everything while I’m gone.”
There’s a pause.
“Okay, fine then.” she says softly. “Please have a good time, let your hair down your little petite shoulders and live your best life, ok? Text me when you make it.”
“I will. Love you, Boss Lady.”
“Love you more, Nerd Girl.”
I hang up, grin to myself, and finally cross into the land of politeness.
Canada, I’m ready for you. Bring on the maple syrup and the book boyfriends.