The Rules of Dating My Best Friend's Sister(10)

“Shit.”

Lala and I put everything down, and I attempted to reseal the box where the tape had come undone. I shook my head. “This isn’t going to hold. I need to put this box in the middle of the other two, so there’s support on the bottom, then we can toss everything back in just to get the stuff into the apartment.”

“Good idea.”

We scooped everything back into the box and stacked the third on top. Lala picked up the box she’d been carrying, and we walked another five or six steps…until the box in her hands gave out, and the contents spilled all over the floor.

“Oh no!” Lala bent down. “Does tape go bad?”

“If it’s old enough. The stickiness dries up. Why? How old was the tape you used to make these boxes?”

She made a face. “I found it in Ryan’s closet. I’m pretty sure it’s from when we packed up some of his clothes for Goodwill a few months after he died.”

Oh shit. “Did you use it for all the boxes?”

She nodded and bit her bottom lip.

I chuckled. “I have packing tape in my apartment. We’ll bring it down with us and reinforce the rest of the boxes before we carry them up.”

Together, we repacked the second broken box and managed to get all of the first batch into the apartment before anything else busted. I went next door to grab fresh tape and came back a minute later. “I thought Warren was coming to help you move in?”

“He’s busy working on a project deadline, and I thought I could handle it myself.”

That’s strike number three against Dr. Douchebag. Two was that pebble of an engagement ring he bought her, and strike one…well, that was because he existed.

I frowned. “We better head back down.”

“Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?”

I gestured toward it. “Help yourself.”

While she took care of her business, I went back next door to my apartment and got us two bottles of water. I offered her one when she came out.

“Oh, thank you. I’m actually really thirsty. I didn’t drink anything before I left because I didn’t want to have to leave all my stuff alone at a rest stop.”

“Good idea.” I twisted the cap and chugged some water. “You ready to do the next trip? Mr. Happy out there is probably stomping his feet by now.”

But when we walked outside, Mr. Happy wasn’t pouting. The fucker was all smiles. His sudden good mood was most likely due to the tow truck lifting the front of Lala’s car into the air. I ran over to the guy running the crank.

“Hey, come on, man. The owner of the car is right here.” I pointed to the guy who’d started this. “This dude tried to steal her spot and picked a fight with her. We were only gone for ten minutes, max. She’s moving into that building right there, and she has all these boxes to carry up. Can you cut her some slack, please? We’ll move the car right after you unhook her, I promise.”

The tow truck driver lifted a foot onto the bumper of his truck and spoke to the other driver. “I don’t know, Officer Agostino, what do you think? Should I give the lady here a break?”

The dickface flashed an evil smile. “Definitely not. Get that piece of shit out of here, Johnny.”

Oh fuck. I hung my head. The asshole is a cop...

I let out a sigh of defeat and spoke to Johnny. “Can we just pay you for the tow, you can unhook it right here, and we’ll move the car? At least save us from having to go down to the impound lot to get it.”

The tow truck driver looked to the cop again. The dickwad shook his head with a smile so big it made me think this was the most fun he’d had in a long-ass time.

The tow truck driver finished cranking up Lala’s car and handed me a card. “I’m probably going to stop for some lunch, so it might be a while.”

“Can we at least take the boxes out before you go? Things are going to rattle around from all the potholes and being towed with the front end in the air.”

“Sorry. No can do.” He walked toward his truck.

I looked at Lala. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” She pointed to the cop. “It’s his.”

The officer flashed one last smug smile and got into his car. “You two have a great fucking day.”

***

Things didn’t get any better after that. Lala and I took an overpriced Uber to Brooklyn to get her car from the impound lot. But when we arrived, the car wasn’t there yet. The damn tow truck driver moseyed in almost an hour later. Then we went to pay and found out they didn’t take credit cards, and neither one of us had enough cash on us. So we had to walk six blocks to the nearest cash machine. After, when we returned with the three-hundred-and-fifty bucks they had the balls to charge, the clerk at the lot didn’t want to release the car to Lala because she didn’t have the registration on her. Once we finally convinced them Lala wasn’t a car thief trying to steal her eleven-year-old piece-of-crap car from the tow company, her car wouldn’t start.

“They messed up your car. I’m gonna kill that tow truck driver.” I started to get out, but Lala reached for me.

“No. I don’t think they did anything, Holden.” She shook her head. “I had to get my neighbor to come over and give me a jump before I left this morning. He said it was probably the alternator.”