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’ll take it.
Just like I take the burrito that Wheeler holds out to me. I smile when I see that she’s rolled back the foil and everything. She’s even got a paper napkin in her other hand.
“Thank you kindly.”
“You’re welcome.” Sipping her coffee, she glances at me. “Thanks for coming, Duke. I mean that.”
“If we don’t die driving up Aspen Mountain in this blizzard, I think we’ll have ourselves a nice little trip, don’t you?”
“Shut up. We’ll be fine.” She rolls her eyes, but her lips are pulled into a smile as she looks at the hand I have on the wheel. “See? That hand seems to be doing great on its own. You practice that one-handed stuff a lot, huh?”
“Darts? Not as much as I’d like. But I’m a natural talent, so…”
“Don’t make me shove that burrito in your face.”
“Remember, the whole idea here is staying alive, which means staying on the road. Which means no burritos being shoved in faces.”
She glances at the clump of pico de gallo that drops into my lap. “You’re a messy eater.”
“I prefer ‘enthusiastic,’” I reply around a mouthful of burrito.
“Guys usually overestimate themselves in that respect.”
I’m laughing again. “You ever know me to go halfway on anything?”
Her eyes glimmer. “We didn’t ever find out who was better at darts, did we?”
Fuck me, this girl’s got my mind in the gutter. She’s not talking about darts, and neither am I when I say, “We’re not dead yet. We got time.”
She doesn’t respond to that. But she’s still smiling when she brings her thermos to her lips.
CHAPTER 7
Gas Station Wine and Cozy Cabin Vibes
Duke
We’re climbing into the mountains when a gust of wind hits us, shaking the truck.
The steering wheel vibrates beneath my fingers. I tighten my grip, ducking my head to peer out the windshield.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Wheeler grips the handle on the frame above her door. “Do you think we should pull over, or…”
We’ve been on the road for over twelve hours now. The afternoon light is fading. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registers just how bone tired I am. My ass is sore, my back aches, and my eyes are sandpaper, thanks to leaving my damn contacts in for way too long. I’d take them out, but I feel like I look like a dork in my glasses.
I perk right the fuck up, though, when the wind hits us again and I have to yank on the steering wheel to keep us in our lane.
“Duke!” Wheeler’s other hand lands on my forearm. “Jesus, the wind up here. Why didn’t they say it would be this bad?”
The highway is mostly deserted, save for the occasional plow and salt trucks. But there’s a sheer drop on our left and a wall of rock on our right, so even though we’re the only ones on the road, I still need to be careful.
I chuckle, partly as an attempt to keep Wheeler at ease. “They kinda did with that blizzard warning.”
“The blizzard’s not supposed to start until eight.” She glances at the clock that glows on the dash. “It’s only five.”
I shrug. “Told you the weather up here changes quickly.”
“You sure you’re okay to drive?”
“Yep. All good.”
Truth be told, the weather is deteriorating fast. The snow has started. Just flurries at the moment, but the wind is whipping them around. I know once the snow really starts to come down, we’ll be facing whiteout conditions. Especially as it gets dark. The truck’s headlights will reflect off the snow, making it virtually impossible to see.
We gotta get to Aspen before that happens. Four more hours. A little less if we get lucky with the weather.
In the meantime, I have to keep Wheeler calm. My cute little city girl clearly ain’t used to traveling in adverse conditions.
Luckily for her, I am. Garrett Luck taught me how to drive in rain, shine, and snow while hauling a trailer full of ornery mustangs.
Wouldn’t say this is easy in comparison, but I’m only the normal amount of nervous as we climb our way through the mountains in the deepening darkness. An hour passes. Two. Three.
I keep the conversation flowing in an effort to distract Wheeler, the two of us chatting about a little bit of everything. She asks what my favorite book is—toss up between anything Ernest Hemingway or Anthony Bourdain wrote—and I pick her brain about the World War II fiction she devours in marathon audiobook sessions while driving between Dallas and Hartsville.
We share a love of Excel, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, and colored lights at Christmas. It’s my favorite holiday, but hers is Halloween because she loves to dress up and buy Reese’s pumpkins in bulk.
The truck doesn’t have Bluetooth—hell, it doesn’t have so much as a CD player or tape deck—so we find a country station on the radio, and together we sing along to Dolly Parton and Garth Brooks.