Hallelujah, a new update. You might as well savor it while it lasts, since I'm back in that lovely place y'all call high school after a write-write-write kind of vacation, so, yeah, enjoy. Again, kinda rough. To the right there is the lovely cover Hamsandwich made me; I'm really flattered! First piece of fan art, I guess you could say!
The Eighteenth Reason
“Easy. Shout.”
“By?”
“Tears for Fears. Next.”
A pause, and then; “What the – no, not fair. This isn’t even real music.”
Smiling to himself, Thatcher turned the dial, taking our interesting music selection down a notch. Or several. I resisted the urge to rub my aching eardrums, in fear that the plate of leftovers strategically placed on my lap would go flying against the dashboard.
“I believe the scientific term is ‘punk rock,’” Thatcher corrected me, returning his hand to the wheel. I was surprised, actually – he didn’t seem to obey the rules of the road, taking them more as casual suggestions.
“Or maybe ‘tortured instruments,’” I muttered under my breath.
“You’re just bitter -” Thatcher said cheerfully.
“What? Me?”
“- because I’m winning.”
That I couldn’t deny. Of course, by randomly flicking through the radio stations he got all the easy ones; the chorus of ‘Hotel California,’ the intro to ‘Some Nights,’ a portion of the wailing from ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight.’ I, on the other hand, got this – some sorry excuse for a band wailing over what sounded like someone thrashing around in a middle school band room.
“This is totally rigged.”
Thatcher chuckled. “Yes, I, Thatcher Wenceslas Lucas, have control over the airwaves. And I am using this power to beat Bronwyn Sonoshino Kirk at ‘Guess That Song.’”
“Which is plausible,” I replied.
“… in an alternate universe.”
I sighed. “Why are you getting so much amusement out of –“
“- finishing your sentences?” He wiggled his eyebrows, a desperate attempt to make me laugh. Like somehow, I’d stop scowling at his prowess at, well, everything and leap in to his arm with gratitude and forgiveness for something he didn’t do.
As if. We were speeding down the highway, and, even if I did want to relive some straight-out-of-a-rom-com moments, we’d probably go hurling off our lane, straight into some unsuspecting wall.
“Point proven.”
Thatcher smiled, unfazed. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a total spoilsport?”
YOU ARE READING
99 Reasons Why It Wasn't Love
RomanceBronwyn Kirk doubts that anyone can be as much of a romantic wreck as her - until she meets Thatcher Lucas, divorcee, bad driver, and determined to find out about Bronwyn's past.
