“’Vette, Creed.”
“I drive.”
“No, I drive,” I shot back.
“I drive,” he reiterated.
“Why, because you’re a man?” I asked.
“No, because I lied yesterday. I’m not all right with bein’ dead and havin’ you back for one day. After this morning, I want another day, at least, and, as I’ve already said, you’re a lunatic behind the wheel. We’re ending this day eating steak I’m grillin’ and drinkin’ beer then f**king. We’re not ending it in a fiery ball of flame.”
“I’ve never had an accident in my life,” I informed him.
“And today, you won’t have one either even though you’ll court it.”
“I’m not that bad of a driver.”
“Baby, you are.”
“Am not!” I snapped.
Creed looked to the heavens.
“We have a meeting with Knight in twenty minutes, Creed,” I reminded him and his eyes came back to me.
Then his arms crossed on his chest.
I crossed mine on my chest and we went into stare down.
I may have mentioned patience wasn’t one of my virtues. Actually, I didn’t have many virtues but patience definitely wasn’t one of them.
So it was me who gave in.
But I did it grumping, “Oh all right,” and stomping to his truck.
I avoided looking at his face as we both angled in. I was in a good mood. I had my eighteenth birthday peridot at my neck (tough choice but I decided on chronological) and the man I loved since I was six at my side so I didn’t want my mood broken.
Creed pulled out of my driveway like a Grandpa.
I didn’t inform him of this.
Instead, I shared, “Just so you know, I speak English. You don’t have to macho-speak with shit like ‘you with me’ after you macho-speak with a bunch of bossing me around. I get you. I’m with you. Or if I’m not, I’ll tell you.”
“Noted,” he muttered but sounded like he was smiling.
I made the diplomatic decision not to look.
Then it hit me.
“You’re not gonna stop talking like that are you?” I asked.
“Nope,” he answered.
I sucked back coffee.
Then I turned on the radio.
“Switch it to news, baby,” he ordered.