Page 67 of Property of Whiskey

“I am actively trying to.”

“Yeah. Noticed.”

He reaches for me.

I kick. My boot catches his thigh.

“Son of a bitch.”

“You were warned.”

He grabs my ankle.

I kick with the other leg.

He catches that one too, leaving me half sprawled across the bench with both boots trapped in his hands.

We look at each other.

“This ain’t dignified,” he says.

“You kidnapped me. Dignity left at Pearly Gates.”

He releases one leg and reaches for my waist.

I twist and hook my boot around the edge of the van door.

He pulls.

I hold on.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“Twila.”

“No.”

“You’re gonna hurt your knee.”

“You’re gonna lose a testicle.”

“Again with my balls.”

“They’re convenient targets.”

“You think about ‘em a lot.”

“Only in relation to removing them.”

His mouth pulls at one corner. “Romantic.”

“Fuck you.”

“Keep saying that.”

I kick again.