Read Online Lucky in Love by Kristen Brockmeyer - Free Book Online
Authors: Kristen Brockmeyer
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the word.
Chance grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me lightly, his fingers warm through my shirt. "Listen to me. He's not going to die. Dominick already got the medication." He used his thumb to wipe a tear from under my eye and grinned at me crookedly. "In fact, Julian is probably having the time of his life. You think that old folks' home of his takes field trips to Sin City? And when's the last time he's been on a private jet?"
I knew he was probably BS'ing me, but I desperately latched on to the idea that this was all an adventure Julian would be bragging about next week at Restful Pines. "Julian does love Frank Sinatra…"
Chance crossed the room quickly to peer through a crack in the curtains, and I abruptly got paranoid. "Is someone out there?" I asked, dropping my voice to a whisper again.
"I don't see any white vans but Dominick obviously has someone watching us. He also knows we want Julian back and he's got the upper hand." Chance dropped down on the bed and started lacing up his boots again.
"Where are we going?"
"Do you have to work tomorrow?" Chance asked.
I looked at him like he was a moron. "Legal secretaries are a dime a dozen."
"Well, then, we're going on a road trip. Ever been to Vegas?"
Great, the most unfortunate person alive, headed toward Lady Luck's home turf.
Ten minutes later, I had faxed in a hurriedly-scribbled resignation letter to the law firm from the hotel office, and Chance and I were arguing in the parking lot over who was going to drive. Chance gave in grudgingly, but surprisingly quickly.
"The Jeep won't attract as much attention as this... thing," he muttered dourly.
"It's not like we're traveling incognito," I shot back. "They know we're coming. We don't care if they see us!"
"We won't even make it to Chicago," Chance argued. "This car's older than dirt."
I puffed up furiously as I rounded the car to yank open the door. "This thing you keep referring to is a classic. I rebuilt every piece under the hood with my bare hands, and restored the whole engine, one Ebay-bought component at a time. And if you think I'm going to leave it in the parking lot of this fleabag motel just because your testosterone is threatened by a girl driving, you've got another thing coming."
I flounced into the drivers' seat, slammed the door and shoved the key in the ignition.
Chance threw his duffel into the back, prompting a low growl from Louie when it jostled the carrier, and then slid into the passenger seat, glowering at me. "Does it get 10 miles to the gallon? Or not that much?"
I ignored him, hoping he didn't push the issue. The Roadmaster only managed 10 miles to the gallon on a good day, but he didn't need to know that.
My eyes narrowed. Chance was no dummy. He would know that.
"What's the deal?" I demanded. "Why are we taking my car?"
Chance's eyes slid away from mine.
"No," I said, "No lies. It makes no sense to drive to Las Vegas, much less in a car that is going to slow us down. Just tell me."
He sighed. "Dominick… is a vintage freak."
I couldn't help it. I bristled.
"Not like you," he said. "The guy is a legitimate whack job. He's a drug lord who thinks he's the reincarnation of a 1920's gangster. And since he's in his mid-forties—"
"He's currently obsessed with all things 1940's." For the first time since I'd come home to my apartment that evening, I felt a smile coming on. Now this was an issue I could deal with.
"Then we need to make a stop first," I said, my tone brooking no argument as I fired up the Roadmaster. "I'm going to make this trip worth his while."
Chapter 13
"This car needs more rest stops than a 96 year old with a bladder infection," Chance groaned, waking up again as I signaled to get off the highway at Joliet, Ill., allegedly the beginning of the original Route 66. Traveling the Mother Road was high on my bucket list, but this wasn't the way I wanted to do it. I promised myself once I got Julian back, we'd do Route 66 in reverse.
Chance grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me lightly, his fingers warm through my shirt. "Listen to me. He's not going to die. Dominick already got the medication." He used his thumb to wipe a tear from under my eye and grinned at me crookedly. "In fact, Julian is probably having the time of his life. You think that old folks' home of his takes field trips to Sin City? And when's the last time he's been on a private jet?"
I knew he was probably BS'ing me, but I desperately latched on to the idea that this was all an adventure Julian would be bragging about next week at Restful Pines. "Julian does love Frank Sinatra…"
Chance crossed the room quickly to peer through a crack in the curtains, and I abruptly got paranoid. "Is someone out there?" I asked, dropping my voice to a whisper again.
"I don't see any white vans but Dominick obviously has someone watching us. He also knows we want Julian back and he's got the upper hand." Chance dropped down on the bed and started lacing up his boots again.
"Where are we going?"
"Do you have to work tomorrow?" Chance asked.
I looked at him like he was a moron. "Legal secretaries are a dime a dozen."
"Well, then, we're going on a road trip. Ever been to Vegas?"
Great, the most unfortunate person alive, headed toward Lady Luck's home turf.
Ten minutes later, I had faxed in a hurriedly-scribbled resignation letter to the law firm from the hotel office, and Chance and I were arguing in the parking lot over who was going to drive. Chance gave in grudgingly, but surprisingly quickly.
"The Jeep won't attract as much attention as this... thing," he muttered dourly.
"It's not like we're traveling incognito," I shot back. "They know we're coming. We don't care if they see us!"
"We won't even make it to Chicago," Chance argued. "This car's older than dirt."
I puffed up furiously as I rounded the car to yank open the door. "This thing you keep referring to is a classic. I rebuilt every piece under the hood with my bare hands, and restored the whole engine, one Ebay-bought component at a time. And if you think I'm going to leave it in the parking lot of this fleabag motel just because your testosterone is threatened by a girl driving, you've got another thing coming."
I flounced into the drivers' seat, slammed the door and shoved the key in the ignition.
Chance threw his duffel into the back, prompting a low growl from Louie when it jostled the carrier, and then slid into the passenger seat, glowering at me. "Does it get 10 miles to the gallon? Or not that much?"
I ignored him, hoping he didn't push the issue. The Roadmaster only managed 10 miles to the gallon on a good day, but he didn't need to know that.
My eyes narrowed. Chance was no dummy. He would know that.
"What's the deal?" I demanded. "Why are we taking my car?"
Chance's eyes slid away from mine.
"No," I said, "No lies. It makes no sense to drive to Las Vegas, much less in a car that is going to slow us down. Just tell me."
He sighed. "Dominick… is a vintage freak."
I couldn't help it. I bristled.
"Not like you," he said. "The guy is a legitimate whack job. He's a drug lord who thinks he's the reincarnation of a 1920's gangster. And since he's in his mid-forties—"
"He's currently obsessed with all things 1940's." For the first time since I'd come home to my apartment that evening, I felt a smile coming on. Now this was an issue I could deal with.
"Then we need to make a stop first," I said, my tone brooking no argument as I fired up the Roadmaster. "I'm going to make this trip worth his while."
Chapter 13
"This car needs more rest stops than a 96 year old with a bladder infection," Chance groaned, waking up again as I signaled to get off the highway at Joliet, Ill., allegedly the beginning of the original Route 66. Traveling the Mother Road was high on my bucket list, but this wasn't the way I wanted to do it. I promised myself once I got Julian back, we'd do Route 66 in reverse.
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