Chapter 8
A few days later.
I'm lounging in The Grind Stone, savoring my sandwich like there are no raisins in it. I know for a fact because Jen made it.
Harvey says, “Dude, that guy is checking out your truck.”
I glance over, more amused than concerned. “Yeah, they do that.” I turn back to him. “Let’s back to the plays?”
We dive back into our phones, discussing strategies for the next game.
Amber's been suspiciously quiet lately, no biting comebacks or death glares. Maybe she's finally realized she's out of her league. I mean, I knew I'd win eventually. It was only a matter of time before she would decide to take the high road.
“Another guy is checking out your truck,” Harvey says, pulling me from my victory lap daydream.
I look up, frowning slightly. One guy admiring my wheels? Normal. Two? That's pushing coincidence territory.
When one of them looks through the window, that’s it.
“I'll be right back,” I mutter, pushing away from the table.
As I step into the parking lot, I spot the two guys circling my truck like vultures eyeing their next meal.
“Hi, can I help you?” I call out, trying to keep my tone friendly despite the weird vibe I'm getting.
The first guy turns to me, eyes lighting up. “Yeah, I'm here to buy the truck.”
“What?” I blink, sure I've misheard.
The second guy pipes up, “Yeah, I'm here to buy the truck too. Maybe take it for a quick spin.”
“Guys, I think there's been a misunderstanding. My truck's not for sale.”
Before I can explain further, another car pulls up. A guy jumps out, practically salivating as he eyes my truck. He notices the other two men standing beside me.
He says, “That's it right there. I'll offer you more to drive it off today.”
What the hell is going on? I feel like I'm in some weird hidden camera show, except the joke's definitely on me and I'm not laughing.
“Listen,” I say, trying to keep my cool despite the frantic energy building inside me. “I don't know what's going on here, but my truck is not for sale. Not today, not ever. It's mine.”
Just when I think this situation can't get any weirder, Amber walks out of the cafe. Because of course she does. The universe clearly hates me today.
One of the guys spots her and his face lights up. “There she is. The one I was talking to. Your boyfriend here said the truck's not for sale.”
Boyfriend? What the actual–
Amber doesn't miss a beat. She slides up next to me, all sweet smiles and big eyes. “No, my boyfriend and I just had the chat this morning. He's selling. Right?”
I stare at her, my jaw somewhere around my ankles. The pieces start to click into place, and I feel a mix of admiration and fury. She set this up. All of it.
“I'm not selling anything,” I state, but Amber just pats my arm like I'm particularly slow-minded.
“We talked about this. Remember? We decided to sell.”
Another person pops out of nowhere and says, “I’m here for the truck. This is it?”
The guys start checking it out and talking about it. One of them is clearly confused as he watches us. I'm right there with you, buddy.
“Amber,” I say through gritted teeth. “Can I talk to you for a moment? Privately?”
“Yeah.”
As I drag her away from the growing crowd of potential "buyers", I can't help but feel a grudging respect. This is next level. Petty, sure, but impressive to pull off.
“What the hell?” I ask once we're out of earshot.
Amber's innocent act drops, replaced by a smirk that could rival my own. “Just giving you a taste of your own medicine, Pearson. How does it feel to have your life disrupted?”
A guy shouts, “I’ll give five more grand than what you’re asking!”
“No!” I shout as the guys start arguing.
I walk over and say, “I’m so sorry to waste everyone’s time. I’m not selling.”
“Sweetheart,” the biggest guy calls out. “You have some explaining to do. I drove an hour to get here.”
Another guy says, “Yeah, I drove thirty minutes!”
She shrugs. “We’re selling it.”
I turn around, meeting her gaze. “No, we’re not!”
She says, “It’s not my fault he’s changing his mind again.”
“It’s not our fault that your boyfriend keeps changing his mind. Now, hand me over the keys so I can take it for a test drive.”
“I’m not handing you these keys.”
They look at Amber.
“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 to my truck!”
“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.”
As he reads Amby's message, I press my lips together. She did this to me on purpose. I need to focus on myself tonight? Right. Did she tell the guy to read her private message to me too?
“I’ll give you a minute.” He nods. “Amby sounds really nice and thoughtful.”
I run to grab my wallet. She sure is.
Zack watches me walk by. “Who’s Amby?”
I shake my head.
“How much is it?” I ask the guy, bracing myself for the answer.
“It's $198.67.”
I inhale sharply, nearly choking on my own spit. Two hundred bucks for takeout? What did she order, gold-plated rice? It smells like rice.
Gritting my teeth, I hand over my card. As much as it pains me to admit it, I've got to give Amber credit for this one. I didn't even know Uber Eats accepted door payments.
“Okay. Thank you,” the delivery guy says, handing me back my card and the bags of overpriced mystery food.
As I close the door, Zack pokes his head out of the kitchen. “What was that about?”
I sigh, heading to the counter to reveal what I just spent two hundred dollars on. “Just a little game I'm playing with someone.”
I open the bag, and the real smell hits me is... interesting. It's sushi, but not like any I've seen before. The pieces are topped with what looks like raw meat, and the whole thing looks about as appetizing as Zack's burnt offerings.
“Well,” I mutter, staring at the culinary monstrosity before me. “This is certainly something I would never eat.”
Zack peers into the container. “Dude, what the hell is that?”
I shake my head, a reluctant grin spreading across my face. “That, my friend, is…” I read the receipt. “Natto. Gyusashi. Porkbelly and Clams, Tuna Roll BLT. What the fuck?” The list continues, but I stop reading, dissecting what’s before me. “Want some?”
When we open the other containers, Zack is making funny faces.
“I don’t know.”
I cackle. “Food is food. Let’s try one of each.”
He shakes his head, hesitant. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”
“Yeah.” I smack his back. “First a pic.” I put all the containers together and take a good photo. I post it, even though Amber doesn’t follow me. Maybe Jen does.
I stare at the array of exotic sushi before me, questioning if this is the best idea. Nobody says we have to eat it.
“Well, here goes nothing,” I mutter, reaching for the labelled Natto sushi first.