The Happy Ever After Playlist - Abby Jimenez Page 0,1

in my rearview.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I breathed, looking back and forth between the barf, the dog, and the lights in my mirror.

I started to giggle. It was my stress response. That and a twitching eyelid. Both of which made me look insane.

This cop was in for a show.

“Kristen, I need to call you back. I’m getting pulled over.” I laughed.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah. I know. I’m parked in the middle of the street and now the cops are here.”

I hung up and the police car made an impatient siren whoop behind me. I crawled along until I could pull into a mini mall. I looked down, fixing my tank top and shaking my head, alternating between grumbling to myself about irresponsible dog owners and giggling like a lunatic.

I considered whether I looked cute enough to get out of a ticket.

All evidence pointed to no.

There was a time, in another universe, when this face had won beauty pageants. Now I looked like I’d been in a fight with a raccoon over a pizza crust—and lost.

Scratches streaked my arms from the dog’s nails, and I was covered in enough orange fur to make a puppy. My blond hair was pulled up in a messy bun that had been half yanked loose in the melee, and my yoga pants and paint-stained tank top weren’t doing me any favors. My bare face looked pale and tired.

I’d looked tired for two years.

“We’ll have to ride this one out on personality alone,” I mumbled to the dog. He smiled with that lolled-out tongue, and I gave him a reproachful look. “Your parents have a lot of explaining to do.”

I rolled my window down and handed over my license and registration to the cop before he asked for it.

“That was quite the scene back there, Miss”—the officer glanced down at my information—“Sloan Monroe. It’s illegal to obstruct traffic,” he said, his tone bored.

“Officer, this wasn’t my fault. This dog bolted into the street and then he just jumped through my sunroof.”

I could see my reflection in his aviator sunglasses. My eyelid twitched and I squeezed it shut, squinting up at him with one eye. God, I looked nuts.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, young lady. Find something that doesn’t require you to block traffic for your next YouTube video and just be glad you’re only getting an obstruction ticket and not one for letting an unleashed animal run around.”

“Wait. You think he’s mine?” I plucked a long piece of fur from my mouth. “I get that nothing says dog ownership more than one diving through the top of your car, but I’ve never seen this guy before in my life.” Then I looked down and started to giggle. The dog had his head on my lap doing an Oscar-worthy performance of being-my-dog. He looked up at me with “Hi, Mommy” eyes.

I snorted and descended into manic laughter again, putting a finger to my twitching eyelid.

Today. Of all days, this happens today.

The cop stared at me for a solid half a minute, soaking in all my crazy. I’m sure the dog barf in the cup holder didn’t help. Not that it did much to take away from the original ambiance of my dilapidated car. I hadn’t washed it in two years. Still, he must have seen something he believed on my face because he entertained my story for a moment.

“Okay. Well, I’ll just put a call in to animal control.” He leaned toward the radio mic on his shoulder. “Get this dangerous stray off your hands.”

I sobered in a second, dropping my finger from my eye. “No! You can’t send him to the shelter!”

His hand froze on the mic, and he arched an eyebrow. “Because this is your dog?”

“No, because he’d be terrified. Haven’t you seen those ASPCA commercials? With the sad dogs in cages? And the Sarah McLachlan song?”

The cop laughed the whole way back to his squad car to write me a ticket.

When the dog and I got home, I stuck my ticket to the fridge with the flip-flop magnet Brandon and I had picked up in Maui. Both the ticket and the magnet made the lump rise in my throat, but the dog pushed his head under my hand and I somehow muscled down the urge to sob. It was 10:00 a.m. on The Day, and I’d so far kept my vow not to ugly-cry.

Yay me.

I called Kristen, who was probably freaking out and gathering a search party since I hadn’t answered her last