Love Isn't About Calling Shotgun

Synopsis

My boyfriend, Johnny Goodman, never let me sit in the front seat. Every time we went out, it felt like I was tagging along. "Jasmine's off work. I'll pick her up. It's not far anyway," he said. Before I could say anything, he'd steered the car straight toward Jasmine's office building. My best friend, Jasmine Howell， quickly hopped into the front seat, turned down the AC, and casually draped Johnny's jacket over her legs. The whole way, they bantered about the GPS, debating which route would avoid the traffic. I sat in the back seat, hugging the bouquet I'd bought. Even though I got carsick, Johnny would say the front seat had a better view, and since Jasmine was tired from working late, she deserved it more. When we pulled into the mall's parking garage, they both got out first to put our name down for a table. I shut the car door and hurried after them. Jasmine was clinging to Johnny's sleeve, acting all cute. There was no wait for a two-person table, but we'd have to wait an hour for a three-person one. When Jasmine saw me, she quickly shoved the number tag into my hand. "Maggie, why don't you go grab a coffee to tide you over? We'll call you when our table's ready," she said. As she spoke, she dangled a little charm from the car keys in front of my face, flashing an innocent smile. "They gave us a pair when we got the car washed last time. Johnny and I each took one. You're okay with that, right?" she added. I stared at the matching charms and then caught sight of her lipstick in the glove compartment and her playlist on the car's Bluetooth. Suddenly, I didn't feel carsick anymore. If that car was only meant for two, maybe it was time for the backseat passenger, me, to get out.