Page 27 of Duke
“Out of Hartsville? No, I don’t.”
The phone in her lap lights up, the ringtone chiming. I glance at it and seeDad—Workon the top of the screen.
I lean away, silently giving her space to take the call. Instead, she hits the button on the side of her phone and sends the call to voicemail.
I wait for her to say something. Explain why she didn’t pick up her dad’s call. Maybe she’s too nervous about the weather to chat right now.
Or maybe there’s another reason why she doesn’t want to talk to her dad. She keeps dropping these hints that her family life isn’t the happiest.
Whatever the case, Wheeler pretends like the call never happened. Instead, she drops the phone into her cupholder and puts the Twizzler in her mouth. She bites down, hard, giving the red candy rope a vicious tug.
“Guess we’ll cross the bridge when we get there,” she says. “If Aspen Leather Company is closed tomorrow or Saturday, then we figure out plan B. Thanks for being flexible.”
“Told you I’m gonna be the best damn assistant you ever had.”
“The mouthiest for sure.”
“But you like it.”
The green and red lights of the dashboard catch on her eyes when she looks at me. “Keeps things interesting, I’ll say that much.”
Conditions steadily worsen. The radio station we’re listening to slowly fades out, so Wheeler has to search for something else. She finds a pop station, and we listen to Lady Gaga and the Jonas Brothers—I think—in tense silence.
Wheeler doesn’t even to pretend to be relaxed, while I try my damnedest to keep the mood light by cracking jokes and bopping my head to the beat of each song.
The relief I feel when we finally cruise into Aspen city limits hits me like, well, a U-Haul truck.
“We should grab some supplies for the house real quick.” I drive slowly, looking out the windows. “If you see a grocery store, let me know.”
The only thing we find open is a gas station. Not ideal, but if we don’t get our asses up to this house, pronto, we’re either gonna get stuck on the side of the road or fall clear off a cliff.
Stepping out of the truck, the cold slaps me across the face. The wind is bitter, biting at any sliver of exposed skin.
Wheeler joins me outside and moans, flipping up the fur-lined hood on her jacket. “Ohmygod Ihatethis.”
“My tender little Texas flower.” Chuckling, I reach over and tug up her zipper so that her mouth and nose are covered. “We’ll make it quick. Booze, snacks, coffee. The rest we’ll figure out later.”
“I like this plan.”
We scurry inside, both of us exhaling audibly as we stand underneath a blast of heat. I do a quick scan of the aisles. We’re not working with much, but it’s enough to get us through the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Maybe this house we’re staying at will have some better food in the freezer?
“Talk to me. I know you drink coffee.” I grab a pound of Dunkin’ off the shelf and drop it in the basket I picked up by the cash register. “Do you always eat breakfast? That burrito seemed to hit the spot.”
Wheeler may or may not have made some porn-adjacent sounds as she polished off her breakfast this morning. I may or may not have had to crack the window to let in some cold air. Told Wheeler I needed a pick-me-up because I was tired. But really, I’d started to sweat. My dick liked those sounds just a little too much.
“I mean.” She reaches up for a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. “We should probably have something on hand just in case.”
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.”
