"A CWILF?"
I didn't know why, but I was fond of this acronym, even though it was crude and rude. With perverse pride, I explained it. "Contest Winner I'd Like to Fuck." I waited while he chuckled. "Pretty cool, huh? I've got my own Internet meme."
Big Tim tilted his head. "This doesn't bother you?"
"Maybe a little, but I'm not sure what I expected. This whole deal has been strange from the start. The night Chuck spoke my name on television, I became an instant celebrity."
And it never let up. Eventually, I got used to the fact that every story about the Fiery Boys had to mention me. I'd seen myself on television and even on the front page of a supermarket tabloid. After a month of this abuse, I longed for the safety of the band bus where I'd be surrounded by four much more famous people. Another reason why I didn't think I'd be running home anytime soon.
I blew out my breath. "I don't have a normal life anymore, Big Tim. The Fiery Boys took care of that. So even if the bus is a living hell, I'm staying on board, safe from the paparazzi, while you drive me around. I hope you don't mind."
Big Tim stared at me. "I think I'll revise my bet to six days."
I laughed. "Not going for all seven?"
He shrugged. "Don't need to. Nobody's betting on any more than five." He smirked as he nodded toward the back seat.