Not Your Average Children's Tales

A Pumpkin Carriage

They said to never mix business with pleasure, but what if you found that it was actually the best combo?

"Come on, turn on some music. It's getting really quiet out here." I stole the aux cord out of Adam's grasp, which led him into throwing me a side glare, then snatching back the cord from my grip.

"Calm down," he hissed, but there wasn't any anger written across his face. I'd learned that he smiled with his whole face, even as he was told off by supervisors, he'd still charm them away. He glanced at his screen then the road ahead of him. "Okay, I think that should do it." A song that I recognized from that band which I'd only known from their one hit single, blasted through the car.

"Oh, so this is what straight guys like to hear." I teased. Turning the volume all the way up that the melancholy of that one overplayed song in a coffee shop, filled up the car.

He tilted his head to the side, looking me up and down. "You know, you should really do something about our boss. Always picking on you."

The low hum of the air conditioner was the only sound echoing in my ears. Accompanied with the keyboard sounds on my phone as I tried to cover up the thickening tension between us. "What do you mean? That's how work's supposed to be, right? Sometimes you get good bosses, sometimes you don't." I protested.

"Well, he was doing too much for that." He quipped, clicking his tongue. Then he held his phone up over his lips, mouthing each word of the song that was currently playing. "So call me by my n-n-n-ame..." He started to sing, the left side of his jaw tensed.

"Come on now, it's been like, what, a hundredth song?" I groaned, leaning forward to try and snatch his phone out of his hands. "It's my turn now." I pleaded with him, but he stuck his tongue out and stared right on the road.

Rolling my eyes at his far too idiotic ways, I glanced over the windows where we'd drove past a bunch of small kiosks lined up along the sidewalk. The small towns that were usually prohibited by fewer people than in a big city, carried some kind of warmth every time you went and talked them up. On Sunday mornings, my mother would take me to one, I'd be scrunching up my nose and watch her negotiate a price with the sellers.

"Fuckhead, why did you say you were going to the next town for again?" I asked him, cutting off the silence after he stopped singing and his hands were scrolling through his phone, probably finding something for the next one.

"Fucking, obviously," he replied. Just like that, the next song was finally a song that I was familiar with. He gave in to my demands. "Also to meet a friend. He's, um, kind of holding something out for me."

"Of course he is." I muttered lowly, he sped up the car to catch up with the traffic lights turning red ahead. "Don't you have a girlfriend?" Curiosity washed over me, obviously I understood that back in college guys would be sleeping around, and that'd be the norm of people my age. Commitment was a doomed line for non-committal, emotionally detached guys.

"Yeah, so?" he frowned, taking out his vape from his pocket and exhaling a puff into the dashboard. My brows scrunched at him polluting the closed-up car with unhygienic, suffocating smoke. "There are two kinds of girls; the one that you sleep with and the one you date. Not everyone can be the second one."

I'd always known from work gossip that he'd gotten a reputation for sleeping and dating around. But hearing it straight out of his mouth was what irked me. Leaning my hand against my seat, I pretended scrolling through my phone instead of caring. "Poor girlfriend." Was what I could mutter.

He hissed. "Oh, like you don't know." He pointed out.

As we stopped for a red light, he started putting gel on his hair and combing through his fingers. The smell of musk wafted up my nose, I put my phone down and let it fall to my thigh. "What's that supposed to mean?" I barked.