There wasn’t much to pack; Caleb had said movers would come in the morning to take my furniture. My bags mainly consisted of clothes and shoes. When I walked out of my haven, I felt tears stinging my eyes, threatening to pour onto my cheeks.
I didn’t know why I was crying. I didn’t know if it was out of happiness that I was not going to be dirt poor, or if it was the fact that it was Caleb saving me from my poverty. I was finally independent only to have it stripped away by the person I hated most.
I open Caleb’s other car; (rich people problems) an expensive cherry red corvette gleaming in the lot. Wow, this is great, I’ll have nowhere to put my stuff or sit down! I frown at Caleb’s smiling face, and plop my stuff right on his lap.
“Why did you buy this? Such a waste,” I complained, sitting on the comfy leather seats. Everything was new, the sounds system, the dashboard, all adorned with little dohickeys and full of nooks and crannies. I didn’t understand updated technology. All you needed was a steering wheel, a radio, and a MPH meter. Nothing more, nothing less. Simple was better in my mind.
“Cause she’s sexy,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“You don’t have friends if your car has a gender.”
“Many people think their cars are female.”
“My car is a car.”
“Well your car is gone.”
“Shut up, you’re not gaining any points here.”
“Thanks, flatty.”
“That’s the most uncreative nickname for my small boobs. I’m the proud chairman of the itty bitty titty committee, thank you very much.”
“Boobs are still boobs,” Caleb shrugs, “And I like em smaller. Easier to handl—”
“EW STOOOOOOOOOOP! You’re a freak!”
“Only for my babe,” he grins as he pulls out of the lot.
“Who’s your babe? Your car? A blonde that you can bang every night?”
“Well, both of those are good in their own ways…But I meant you...”
“You’re gross, get away you STD ridden rat!”
“I am not a rat,” he argues hotly, “But if I’m a rat you better be the cat, cause I like to be chased sometimes.”
“All right, bye creep.” I blare Taylor Swift’s “22”. Usually, I hate Taylor, but today I was feeling obnoxious. I scream the lyrics, almost hearing Caleb’s eardrums vibrating.
“IT FEELS LIKE A PERFECT NIGHT TO DRESS UP LIKE HIPPPSTERS, AND MAKE FUN OF OUR EXES, UH UH, UH UH!”
“Shut up, you’re annoying.”
“No, you, creep.”
“But baby dearestttttttttttt, I love you!”
“PAY ATTENTION TO THE ROAD!”
“ADMIT YOU’RE DATING ME OR I’LL CRASH THE CAR!”
“YOU’RE SOFT YOU WON’T DO IT! YOU LOVE YOUR CAR TOO MUCH!”
“Wanna bet?”
“All the money in my pocket, Caleb.”
“Aight,” he spins the wheel in the middle of the intersection. I scream, “STOP WHAT ARE YOU DOING!”
His meter goes up to 90, as he swerves in and out of the lanes, passing each car on a double yellow line.
“ADMIT IT!”
“NO!”
“We’re going to die then…”
I hear long and annoying beeps, squeaking of tires, and cuss words.
“CALEB YOU’RE MY BOYFRIEND!”
He slams on the breaks just in time for the stop sign. He grins at me, “Thanks, girlfriend.”
What did I just do?
YOU ARE READING
My Accidental NFL Boyfriend
RomanceJayla lived throughout high school being tortured by her childhood friend, Caleb. He made sure she didn't make one friend--stringing her 34A bra on the flagpole, pantsing her in front of his whole football team, posting the ugliest pictures in flyer...
