“I’m not supposed to be eating this much. Well, drinking, this much,” I sigh. I keep slurping up my glorious chocolate milkshake, though, fingers icy from the cup despite the heat blasting in Brody’s car. It’s almost midnight, and it’s not like I want to go home, or drive myself back home, so I’m taking whatever Brody has to give.
Except, maybe that’s the problem, too.
I relax further into the passenger seat, being mindful about loosening all my tensed muscles, as if ten years hasn’t been long enough of a time to get over the likes of Brody Kane.
I slurp up some more chocolate milkshake, working hard to get it through the straw because it is thick, and promptly start feeling the throbbing pain of a brain freeze right between my eyeballs.
“On a scale of one to ten, how good is a Philly
