Dirty Secrets

Part 33

When Lyla retrieved her phone from the security desk and powered it on she found a message from Darcy time-stamped 11:08. 

Darcy: I'm sick. 🤮 Can't pick you up. Sorry. 

Lyla replied: No worries. U OK?

Darcy didn't respond. Hopefully, she was sleeping.

The hospital's glass doors parted revealing Packer standing at his usual spot on the walkway, head cocked, a charming grin on his face. He glanced toward the end of the driveway then back at Lyla.

"Don't see your friend... Dara?" 

"Darcy. She's sick."

"Soooooo... if you don't wanna end up like Darcy, do not ride the bus. Buses are like petri dishes on wheels." 

Lyla grinned.

"That's legit. You can look it up. The Packermobile is one hundred percent germ-free. Well, maybe eighty-five. I think there's a bottle of hand sanitizer in there somewhere."

"Okay. Stop selling."

His smile widened. 

At that moment, she could've sworn that she smelled the perfume of springtime riding in on a soft breeze.

She walked with him to the parking lot. They passed a lustrous silver metallic Porsche parked in a space reserved for physicians.

"I thought this was your car." She smirked.

"Someday," he replied, admiring the opulent vehicle. 

"You mean when you're an NBA star."

"I got dreams, shawty."

"Don't ever say that again. You can't pull that off."

"Not gonna argue. But you know what separates me from your average high school beefcake gym-rat jock?" He tapped his forehead.

"You got a thick skull?" Lyla teased.

"Ha. Ha. Intellect, my dear woman. Superior intellect."

"Oh God." She rolled her eyes.

He drew the key fob from his pocket and pointed it at a blue Honda Civic.

BEEP. BEEP. 

"It's no Porsche," he said apologetically.

"It's a nice car."

He opened the door for her.

"For an eight-year-old Honda."

"Way nicer than the beater I used to drive."

He closed her door then got into the driver's seat. Even with the seat pushed back as far as it would go, his knees nearly touched the bottom of the steering wheel. 

She concealed her grin with her hand.

"I know. I know. Clown car, right? Could use a little more legroom."

"A little?"

"Anyway, I like this car. We got a thing goin' on."

"It's cute."

"So which way we going?"

"Make a right out here."

He steered out of the parking lot and turned right.

"Today was the worst," Lyla sighed. "Matthew. Just the sound of his voice and I literally stop listening."  

"You should've seen his face when the cops came into the sesh and took Eric out."