Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
I grin. “You just want an excuse to eat that garbage, don’t you?”
“Well, yeah.” She’s grinning too, looking so adorable in her furry hood with her bright pink cheeks that my heart skips a beat. “My parents would buy fun cereal like this when we’d go on vacation. Did you not eat it growing up?”
I grab the box and drop it in the basket. “Lived on the stuff. Cinnamon Toast Crunch just so happens to be among my favorites. Drinking the milk at the end?”
“Best part!”
“Let’s not forget to grab milk, then.”
“I’m on it.”
“See?” I hold out my fist. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”
Scoffing, she rolls her eyes and gives me a reluctant fist bump. “Not sure this counts, but okay.”
We grab a couple cans of Pringles, some bread, butter, eggs, OJ, and cheese. The solo jar of salsa looks lonely on the shelf, so I grab that too, along with sugar and milk.
We hit the beer and wine aisle last. Wheeler holds up a bottle of wine with a fish on the label. “Feels like a cab kinda night, no?”
“Is that going to be enough?”
“How much are you planning on drinking?”
“No telling how long we’ll be snowed in. And far as I can tell, you haven’t properly celebrated all those wins that keep adding up for you and Mollie.” I pick up a box of cabernet sauvignon. “This is more our speed.”
Wheeler stands beside me. “Are you suggesting we play slap the bag?”
Slap the bag is an exceptionally stupid drinking game we’d play back in the day. First, you remove the bag of wine from inside the box. Then one person holds up the bag while the other gets on his or her knees and drinks from the bag for as long as possible. Once they’re done, they simply slap the bag and pass it on to the next person.
Mindless? Yes. Does it get you buzzed in a hurry? Also yes.
Not like I want to get Wheeler drunk. I just want her to be able to relax after a long, stressful day.
“I’m absolutely suggesting we play slap the bag.” I put the box in my basket, careful not to crush the loaf of Wonder Bread. “The fancy version, though, since we’re in a fancy place, and I’m springing for the fancy boxed wine.”
Wheeler ducks her lips and nods. “I could get on board with that. Although you’re not springing for anything. Since this is a business trip, our food goes on my business card.”
I head for the register. “So you’re buying this round, huh?”
“I most certainly am.” She’s already digging inside her purse. “Just gimme a minute to find that damn card…”
But when it’s time to pay, I beat Wheeler to it, sticking my card into the reader just as she finds her Amex.
“Duke!”
I gently elbow her outstretched arm, card in hand, away. “Your money’s no good here.”
“Seriously, you have to let me pay. You drove, and you brought all that candy…” She looks up at the cashier. “Ma’am, is there a way to void this transaction?”
The reader beeps. Giving Wheeler a bored look, the cashier asks if I want a receipt.
“We’re good, thanks.”
“We’ll take a receipt if you don’t mind.” Wheeler glares at me. “That way, I know how much I owe you.”
“Would you quit? We’ll settle up later.” I nod at the doors. “Now get in the truck. We ain’t got much time, Bluebonnet.”
She gives me a look as she adjusts her hood. “Bluebonnet?”
I give her a look right back. “Surely you know what—”
“Of course I know what a bluebonnet is. I just don’t get why I have a nickname all of a sudden.”
“Because you’re my Texas flower, remember?”
“Ew.”
“Would you prefer Blue?”
“I would prefer Wheeler, thanks.”
“Got it.” I step forward, activating the automatic sliding door. “All right, Blue. Gird your loins. It’s as cold as a witch’s tit in a steel bra out there.”
Four miles and two near-death experiences later, we pull into a driveway that must be heated because it’s not the least bit icy. My chest feels tight as I put the truck in park. Not sure I breathed all that much during the last mile. Those hairpin turns were not fun in whiteout conditions, especially when you’re driving a dinosaur of a truck whose tires have a questionable amount of tread.
I look through the windshield at the house. Even in the dark, I can see how enormous it is. How beautiful too. It’s exactly what I would picture a mansion in Aspen looking like: stone siding, big steel windows, a soaring, timber-framed roofline. Tucked into the side of Aspen Mountain, the house must have incredible views of the Rockies. It’s surrounded by the area’s famous aspen trees, some of them soaring twenty, thirty, fifty feet high.
The property must be worth tens of millions of dollars. Exactly what kind of “family friends” does Miss Wheeler Rankin here have?