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JOSEPHINE


Blue sky whizzes past the windows.

I settle into the soft black leather.

After three years riding shotgun, making out in the passenger seat, fucking in the back seat—

There are a lot of memories in this car.

A Red Hot Chili Peppers song pours from the speakers.

KROQ is the same. Same DJs. Same local commercials. Same setlist stopping at 1995.

This is too familiar.

Sitting next to Hero feels too fucking good.

I can smell his soap.

Feel the heat of his body.

The ache between my legs.

This whole keeping him at arm's length thing isn't working.

His proximity is too intoxicating.

The DJ introduces the next song. Just a Girl.

The back of my hand brushes his shoulder as I turn up the volume.

My eyelids press together.

Lyrics pour from my lips. I can't help myself. I never could.

Hero looks at me the way he used to, like he's so lucky to have found someone so...

Weird, I guess.

He always loved it when I sang.

He loved how opinionated I was about music.

Even when I completely trashed his CD collection (which wasn't that bad, really).

I soak in it.

Let beautiful memories pour through my head for the rest of the drive.

After another song, we pull into the lot of a Fullerton strip mall. Park in front of a shop with a Cupcakes for Everyone sign in its white window.

"Mercy likes this place?" It's so cute and girly. Which, I guess she is. She was like me that way—adorable when she wished she was badass.

His hand brushes mine as he pulls the keys from the ignition. "Wait until you taste it."

How about I taste you instead? We can skip all this awkward small talk.

Skip all these pretenses. Get straight to where we need to be.

No clothes.

No explanations.

No excuses.

"You okay, Jo?" He undoes the buckle of his seatbelt.

My fingers curl around the strap of mine. Okay? No. Okay is absolutely not the right word. But I'm surviving the week. Even if it takes a dozen cupcakes to do it.

I undo my seatbelt.

Push the door open.

Step onto the concrete.

My rubber soles don't sink into the hard surface. They're floating. I'm floating.

How can I be standing in an Orange County strip mall, pushing the door to Hero's Benz closed, asking myself what flavor of cupcake sounds best?

This was my life once.

Now...

Well, now, we're friends.

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