Tabby snickered. Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Can I say asshat on TV?” I asked them.
Sam shrugged.
“You stay out of this, you . . . suffragette,” Kell said, hissing the word.
I straightened up. “Dude. This is my tire that Dixon kindly—because he’s a gentleman, not a poseur—is helping me with. So take your drama elsewhere, preferably out of hearing because I have things to do.”
Kell sputtered a few choice phrases. Louise nodded and preened for the camera. Melody, looking over the edge of the car, smothered a laugh.
“Where’s the spare?” Dixon asked, having successfully removed the offending bolt. He pulled the tire off and looked up expectantly.
“Right here, but I can put it on. You guys had better get on your way, so Mr. Antsy-Pants there doesn’t have a stroke because you were being thoug
