Page 14 of Ghost

“If I allow the vote change, we’re in a tie,” Baker said. “If we’re in a tie, you know the rules.”

“I don’t give a shit,” I said, turning to face Cash. “You want to ride to Connecticut this fall?”

“Hell yeah,” Cash said.

“Fuck it,” I said openly. “Cash and I are going to Connecticut.”

“You’re all over the place,” Baker said. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Ghost?”

Normally, I was decisive. Even if I happened to thrust myself into a situation that I later regretted, I never changed my mind. I was the poster boy for stubborn behavior, and the men knew it.

“I’m exhausted,” I said, which was partially true. “Went to Borrego Springs earlier today. Caught a fucking rattlesnake. It was hotter than ten kinds of fuck, too.”

“Borrego Springs?” Goose asked. “Why the fuck did you go to Borrego Springs?”

“Rattlesnake?” Tito asked. “Was it a Western, Diamondback, Panamint, Sidewinder, Mojave, or Red Diamond?”

Tito was a walking information vault, and often expected others to be as intelligent as he was. It was never the case. “How the fuck would I know?” I spouted. “It had a rattle on one end, and a pissed off head on the other.”

“Was just wondering,” Tito said. “California has six species.”

I pulled out my phone, opened the picture Abby had sent me, and handed the phone to Tito. “You tell me what that angry fucker is.”

He looked at the photo. After his eyes shot wide, I decided whatever it was must have been what he was hoping for. He glanced at me, back at the phone, and then looked at Baker. His jaw was all but in his lap.

“What?” Baker asked.

Tito turned the phone to face Baker. Baker squinted in response. “Big snake. Don’t know what it is. Chick’s cute, though. Who is it?”

“Uptown Abby,” Tito said.

My eyes narrowed. “You know her?”

Goose coughed out a wad of surprise and then snatched the phone from Tito’s hand. “You went to Borrego Springs with Uptown Abby?”

“No shit?” Reno asked. “She’s hot as fuck.”

I looked at each of them as if they were on fire. “Who the fuck’s Uptown Abby?”

Tito grabbed the phone from Goose, fumbled with it for a moment, and then handed it to me. “This one’s funny. Just press play.”

A YouTube video was loaded on the screen of my phone. I pressed play. After a five second video about the new BMW SUV, a woman appeared. Her hair was in a bun, and she was wearing glasses, but it was undoubtedly Abby. A much younger Abby, but it was her.

Finding a man in San Diego that’s suitable for dating isn’t an easy task. Personally, I prefer a big man. A tall man. A man who makes me feel small and protected. So, I ventured to the gym in search of my perfect mate. What did I find?

Well, I’m still single.

I did come up with an idea, though.

The personality gym.

I think it’s a great concept. Instead of going in, lifting weights, and leaving with shredded abs, bulging biceps, and a missing neck, you would go in, get an awesome cup of Italian roast coffee and a bran muffin.

While munching the muffin and sipping the coffee, you’d talk to a personality counselor. After six weeks, you’d graduate with manners, the ability to communicate with others, and a reasonable sense of self-worth.

Why is it that most men who spend their idle time in the gym are referred to as meatheads?

Because their heads are nothing more than a slab of meat, that’s why.