Frogs & French Kisses #2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

like I left my brain at the cottage. “Excuse me?”
    “It’s a bus full of men! Talk about a dating pool. Go get it!” I’m bobbing up and down in my seat like a yo-yo.
    “I am not chasing a bus,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t want a speeding ticket.”
    “Do you see a cop?” I do an exaggerated look out the window. “I don’t see a cop. Go get ’em!”
    “You’re crazy.”
    “Use magic!” I cry.
    “I don’t use magic! I’m a nonpracticing witch!”
    “Mom! It’s a new chapter in your life. Make some changes!”
    The gulf between us and the bus is widening. “I don’t know,” she says. “That’s not what I meant. . . .”
    “Now is the time. Give the bus a flat tire! Empty its gas tank!” The bus is now almost a football field away. Two football fields! Three! They’re getting away! “Follow that cab!” I scream.
    “It’s not a cab,” Miri snarls from the backseat.
    Why must she be so literal? Anyway, I know, but I’ve always wanted to say that. It sounds glam.
    “Rachel, give it a rest,” my mom says, but as her mouth forms the words, her eyes tell a different story, lusting longingly for the Hunks-on-Wheels. And that’s when a gust of cold air bursts through the car.
    I’m wondering why the air conditioner just kicked on when boom!
    The bus is tilted to its right. Oh my. Oh yes! My mom just gave the bus a flat tire! It grinds to a halt and pulls to the side of the road.
    I’m bursting with pride, like I just watched my child take her first steps. “You did it!”
    “I—I—I,” my mom stammers.
    “Quick, pull over beside it,” I instruct.
    She listens and parks the car on the shoulder of the road, right behind the bus.
    “Well, what do we do now?” Miri asks, kicking the back of my seat. Big baby.
    “We offer our assistance,” I say. “I know I’m not the best wingman at the moment because of the scrape on my face, but it’s better than it was yesterday and Miri looks pretty cute in her overalls—”
    “What if they’re dangerous?” my scaredy-cat sister complains. “They could be serial killers.”
    “Yes, a bus full of serial killers, that’s realistic.” Come on, Miri, get with the program. “Let’s go!” I sing, and unlock my door.
    I glance over at my mom. She looks completely shell-shocked, blinking repeatedly as if specks of dirt just flew into her eyes.
    “Come on! Now or never!”
    She ogles the bus, looks at me, and then, just when I think she’s going to reverse right out of there, flips open the overhead mirror and gives herself the once-over. “All right, let’s do it.”
    Wahoo! I wish she wasn’t wearing her nerd-o jeans pulled up right to her waist. Although they do make her butt look all J-Lo.
    I flip open my mirror for a quick peek. Besides the chin absurdity, everything looks normal. Complexion = clear, nose = small, eyes = brown, teeth = straight.
    “This is so stupid,” Miri says, sulking. “What are you going to do? Help change the tire?”
    “We’re not going over to help them. We’re going so Mom can meet men. Now, put on a pretty please-date-my-mother smile and let’s go.”
    “Forget it. I’d rather stay here and edit my Save the World list. And leave me the cell phone in case you two get accosted, so I can call the police for backup.”
    Such a drama queen.
    “Keep the doors locked,” my mom says insistently, and then jumps out of the car. She cautiously checks for oncoming traffic, hesitates, and then, holding my hand, leads me toward the bus.
    Before we can get to the front, the door swings open and a tall, skinny man wearing a brown suede hat (in an obvious attempt to cover his thinning gray hair) steps outside. He’s wearing a thick green Patagonia sweatshirt, and a badge that says Baseball Hall of Fame, Tour Leader dangles from his wrinkled neck. A baseball tour! Excellent. The tour guide stretches his arms over his head and then scratches his burly gray eyebrows, looking startled to see us