I decided to bombard him with my questions in the parking lot before we went into the arcade and got distracted. Not to mention his answers would determine if I bothered spending the rest of my evening with him.
"Look," I bluntly stated. "The only reason I'm here is because you keep aimlessly texting my friend and ask all sorts of irrelevant questions. And how the hell do you know her address and where she goes to school? And to clear things up, no she is NOT pregnant."
"Yeah, I know she's not," he replied in a smart alec voice. "She already gave birth. Six times!"
"I can just leave right now," I tersely spat back. I really wasn't planning on leaving just yet because I needed to squeeze some more information out of him, but I rustled around for my keys in my back pocket and pushed the unlock button for emphasis.
"Ok ok," he said holding up his hands and taking a few steps closer. "I needed to get her address since she wouldn't willingly give it to me or invite me over for help in school."
"Damon, cut the bullshit," I flawlessly stated as if I had known him for years. He looked a bit taken aback but soon continued with his roundabout justification.
"All I can tell you is this is not my choice. My company forces half of my actions and it is completely beyond my control. They pay me well though. If you don't believe me, how do you think I afforded this guy over here?" He gestured toward his perfectly parked sports car that gleamed with newness. I wanted to go over and touch it so badly, but I would look like a complete idiot petting the car and smearing my fingerprints all over it.
He saw me intently staring at it and suddenly asked, "You wanna drive it?"
"What?" I asked in disbelief.
"I said would you like to drive it? As in take it on the road."
"But we just met. You'd trust me with your sports car? It must be worth well over a hundred thousand."
"Eh, it's no big deal. I've got a couple more just sitting at home." What a show off, but I did decide to take him up on his offer. What's the worst that could happen? I'd be driving, so it's not like he could kidnap me, and my gun was resting right on my belt covered by my shirt. I nodded eagerly, and he fished for his keys and tossed them to me. I caught them and traced over the gold Lamborghini emblem with my fingers noting that this was my first ride in a sports car.
I unlocked it, and we both hopped in. It had a new car smell mixed with men's cologne and grilled food. The windows were extremely tinted and the windshield was greatly angled for a sporty effect. My head almost touched the low roof, but the seat offered plenty of room so there was compensation. I quickly became familiar of where the directionals were along with how to adjust the seat, and then I put the keys in and started it.
The engine somehow roared to life while still remaining fairly quiet, and I could feel the raw power under the hood. I put it into drive and gently tapped on the accelerator only to have the car lurch forward with impatience. I applied the brakes and alternated between stopping and going several times before we hit the road. The road was a completely different experience since I could reach decent speed levels. We raced past other cars and effortlessly kept moving along as if we were flying through air. After about fifteen minutes, we decided to head back to Malibu.
I thanked him for letting me drive his car, and we both seemed to forget about my prior rudeness to him, and instead, went inside to the arcade. As I ordered the tickets, he said he was going to grab a Coors Light, and I wondered if he was really of drinking age. After about ten arcade games and three beers, he began to get aggressive and started coming onto me. I decided we should call it a night, so we said our goodbyes and decided to meet up again soon.
Again, that was probably one of the worst decisions of my life.
