Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I have her covered because I’m not in the mood for fancy either. Hardly ever am—not when a juicy burger is the cure for most ailments. Or dessert, which is even better. Carrie is the only one keeping me honest. And healthy.
“There’s this new place I saw on Instagram with the craziest shit,” I say, pointing in a vague direction of the restaurant since we’re already in the downtown area. “They have these insane milkshakes. You won’t believe what they stick on top of them.”
She raises her eyebrows to tease me. “Burgers?”
Dammit, how did she know? She ruined the surprise.
“Yes, but not just burgers. Also doughnuts, cookies, pretzels—pretty much everything.” Rubber ducks. Candy. Entire pieces of cake.
All depends on which shake you order.
I want one so bad.
“I’ve seen those.” Her eyes widen in horror. “They look like a literal heart attack in a glass.”
“Yeah, but they also look fucking delicious.” I grab her hand and begin pulling her along. She laughs again, her giggle easily becoming one of my favorite sounds. “There’s only one way to find out.”
If we can find the place.
With my free hand, I pull up the walking directions, relieved to discover it’s not that far from where we’re standing, only three city blocks.
Win!
We walk the few blocks, sidewalks still bustling, the neon lights of the Sugar Ice Cream Shack beckoning.
“Shoot.” Margot groans as we approach. “There’s a line.”
Pfft, please. “This is where it comes in handy to be a douchey football player.”
The dude at the door spots me when I approach him. I understand his silent message: “You guys want me to let you in?”
I nod, giving Margot a tug. “Come on.”
“What are we doing?” She is frantically looking around, hissing, “We can’t skip all these people! I won’t be able to look anyone in the eye.”
We can and we do.
Damn right, we skip the line.
Once we’re inside, seated comfortably in a corner booth near a bright, candy-covered bar—one that serves alcohol, of course—we pass the time waiting for our server by people watching, making up ridiculous backstories for everyone around us.
“See that guy with the man bun? Definitely a secret agent.” Margot is nodding toward a tall, muscular guy with a suspiciously serious expression who’s scrunched at a table with two teenagers, one boy and one girl, both of them ignoring him and playing on their phones. For a man surrounded by ice cream and doughnuts, he sure looks miserable.
“How can he be a secret agent when he’s in here eating ice cream?” I don’t love that theory; it makes no sense. “I was thinking he’s the type of guy that owns his own gym and doubles as a bodyguard on the weekends.”
“You think he’s that girl’s bodyguard? Could be.” She shrugs. “Although he’s probably a single dad, and this is his weekend with the kids, and he’s trying to spend time with them, but they’d rather just play on their phones.”
That was going to be my next guess.
“What are you getting?” I ask her, plucking up a menu and opening it. It’s absurdly oversize, and we laugh as we try to hold them up and read at the same time, laminated pages bumping and making it difficult.
“I feel like I need a map to navigate this thing.” She peeks over the top at me. “It’s gargantuan.”
“Just close your eyes and point,” I suggest. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
“Why do I get the feeling that you say that a lot?”
“’Cause I say that a lot?” I laugh. “It only fails me fifty percent of the time.”
When the server comes to take our order, we both opt for the most ridiculous milkshakes on the menu. They’re not cheap, and ordinarily the price tag might make me cringe, but how can anything topped with an entire slice of cheesecake be a bad investment?
Mine? Has a mini doughnut tower precariously perched on top.
In short order both desserts are plopped down in front of us. We stare.
“That looks absolutely . . . revolting,” she says, looking from mine to hers to mine. “Seriously. Who came up with this? It’s nonsense! This must weigh at least five pounds!”
I steal a cookie from the side of her glass and pop it in my mouth before she can scold me.
“This is . . . wow.” She’s eyeballing her own concoction. “I have no idea how to start eating this.”
There are spoons in a cup holder on the table, and I hand her one, also taking one for myself, plus a half-dozen napkins.
We’re going to need them.
“Epic, isn’t it?” I say, tentatively sipping my milkshake while trying not to topple the doughnuts.
I love how it looks. So fucking cool. “Do you mind if I take a picture before we eat these?”
Margot rolls her eyes but pushes her glass toward mine so I can snap a photo with my phone.