My Unmarried Pregnant Secretary

15

Okay, I take that back.

Suddenly, in the middle of my thoughts, a figure appears at the corner of my eye, closing in on me.

"Hey, was that your orange McLaren that was out there in the parking lot earlier?" Agastya asks me, leaning over the aisle way. What kind of a question is that? Okay, so, one: why was he stalk-watching me this morning? Two: why is he asking me this when we're clearly learning about the h*******t and the Auschwitz death camp? And Three: why does he care?

I guess my perplexed and half-irritated look shows through because he then holds his hands up in surrender. "Chill. I was just gonna say it was pretty cool, or you know," he pauses, avoiding eye contact, seemingly and surprisingly shy. "Give me a lift home sometime in it."

So that's what he wants; a ride in the fancy car. I don't care to give him a ride sometime since he really has the guts to ask in the first place. I mean, let's face it: he's a dude; dudes like cars; dudes will do whatever they can, even outside of the law, to be in an interesting one. But I think I'll let him squirm for a bit since I have the upper hand in this situation.