Read Online Lucky in Love by Kristen Brockmeyer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kristen Brockmeyer
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He'd get a kick out of it. In a few days, Julian and I would be eating ice cream under the Blues Brothers statues at the Rich & Creamy ice cream stand.
"Hey, the first stop didn't count because we hadn't left town yet and you slept through it after you took that stupid Flexoral. That was a pre-trip pit stop. And I know you didn't expect me to drag poor Louie along with us."
My mom was not going to be excited to find Louie in her house when she got home. She was afraid of Louie.
"I also didn't expect you to bring an I Love Lucy travel trailer. Talk about gas mileage—you strapped a steel bucket to our asses."
"Hey, it makes sense," I said. "The Boles Aero has a solid frame and hitch, so it'll make the trip just fine. It's been just as painstakingly refurbished as the Roadmaster, plus with the chrome polished up and coordinating paint jobs, Dominick'll go nuts. The camper's a 1948, same as the car, and anyway, it's only 10' long. Do you know how rare these trailers are? That's a priceless, one of a kind steel bucket strapped to our ass, buddy." I tried to put some snark in my tone, but it was hard, since I was so tired, and Chance didn't bother to reply.
We'd only been on the road for two and a half hours, but the day was really starting to catch up with me and it felt like ten. Plus, it was nighttime and raining steadily, and we still 22 hours of driving ahead of us.
I put that harrowing thought out of my head and got out to fill the tank. One step at a time, I told myself as Chance unfolded himself from the front seat. "I'll go pay—do you need anything?"
"Besides a shower and a restart button to do this day over? Just some chocolate and caffeine, please."
I finished filling up the ginormous gas tank in the Buick, and looked around while I waited for Chance to come back with the snacks. It was late and the gas station was mostly deserted. A chilly wind blew, and I rubbed my arms through the cardigan I'd quickly dug out of the stuff I'd had stored at my mom's place. As I stood there, a white van pulled in to the parking lot. The windows were tinted dark.
There's no logo on the side, I told myself. And no way could it be the same van. There had to be a jillion white vans in Illinois. I watched as it parked at the furthest spot from the convenience store and shut the lights off. I waited a moment, but no one got out. Suddenly, I was convinced the owner of that van was a member of Dominick's posse. Of course they were following us—why hadn't that thought occurred to me before?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I squared my shoulders and marched across the parking lot. Walking up to the dark window, I pounded on it as hard as I could with one closed fist. "Open up, asshole!"
The window slowly lowered with a whine.
A young, crew cut police officer in uniform stared out at me.
Well, crap.
"I'm sorry," I managed. "I thought you were somebody else."
Before he could start reading me my Miranda rights, I spun around and hurried back to the Buick. Chance was just coming out of the gas station, arms laden with snacks, and when he saw me and the van behind me, he glared.
"What the hell, Lucky? I thought I told you to stay in the car."
I started grabbing chip packages and candy bars and shoved the car keys at him. "You drive," I ordered, hoping to distract him. Ignoring his glare, I sidled past Chance and awkwardly wrestled the car door open, disappearing inside with an ungraceful leap into the seat. When I checked my rear view, to my relief, saw that he was rounding the silver trailer, coming over to the driver's side.
I had just called a cop an asshole and all I wanted to do was leave before he decided to not be so accommodatingly dumbfounded.
Chance got in and kicked the seat back to make room for his long legs. He shoved the key into the ignition, but didn't start the car. "You do know, right, that we're dealing with professional criminals, and it isn't in your best interests to go around trying to pick
"Hey, the first stop didn't count because we hadn't left town yet and you slept through it after you took that stupid Flexoral. That was a pre-trip pit stop. And I know you didn't expect me to drag poor Louie along with us."
My mom was not going to be excited to find Louie in her house when she got home. She was afraid of Louie.
"I also didn't expect you to bring an I Love Lucy travel trailer. Talk about gas mileage—you strapped a steel bucket to our asses."
"Hey, it makes sense," I said. "The Boles Aero has a solid frame and hitch, so it'll make the trip just fine. It's been just as painstakingly refurbished as the Roadmaster, plus with the chrome polished up and coordinating paint jobs, Dominick'll go nuts. The camper's a 1948, same as the car, and anyway, it's only 10' long. Do you know how rare these trailers are? That's a priceless, one of a kind steel bucket strapped to our ass, buddy." I tried to put some snark in my tone, but it was hard, since I was so tired, and Chance didn't bother to reply.
We'd only been on the road for two and a half hours, but the day was really starting to catch up with me and it felt like ten. Plus, it was nighttime and raining steadily, and we still 22 hours of driving ahead of us.
I put that harrowing thought out of my head and got out to fill the tank. One step at a time, I told myself as Chance unfolded himself from the front seat. "I'll go pay—do you need anything?"
"Besides a shower and a restart button to do this day over? Just some chocolate and caffeine, please."
I finished filling up the ginormous gas tank in the Buick, and looked around while I waited for Chance to come back with the snacks. It was late and the gas station was mostly deserted. A chilly wind blew, and I rubbed my arms through the cardigan I'd quickly dug out of the stuff I'd had stored at my mom's place. As I stood there, a white van pulled in to the parking lot. The windows were tinted dark.
There's no logo on the side, I told myself. And no way could it be the same van. There had to be a jillion white vans in Illinois. I watched as it parked at the furthest spot from the convenience store and shut the lights off. I waited a moment, but no one got out. Suddenly, I was convinced the owner of that van was a member of Dominick's posse. Of course they were following us—why hadn't that thought occurred to me before?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I squared my shoulders and marched across the parking lot. Walking up to the dark window, I pounded on it as hard as I could with one closed fist. "Open up, asshole!"
The window slowly lowered with a whine.
A young, crew cut police officer in uniform stared out at me.
Well, crap.
"I'm sorry," I managed. "I thought you were somebody else."
Before he could start reading me my Miranda rights, I spun around and hurried back to the Buick. Chance was just coming out of the gas station, arms laden with snacks, and when he saw me and the van behind me, he glared.
"What the hell, Lucky? I thought I told you to stay in the car."
I started grabbing chip packages and candy bars and shoved the car keys at him. "You drive," I ordered, hoping to distract him. Ignoring his glare, I sidled past Chance and awkwardly wrestled the car door open, disappearing inside with an ungraceful leap into the seat. When I checked my rear view, to my relief, saw that he was rounding the silver trailer, coming over to the driver's side.
I had just called a cop an asshole and all I wanted to do was leave before he decided to not be so accommodatingly dumbfounded.
Chance got in and kicked the seat back to make room for his long legs. He shoved the key into the ignition, but didn't start the car. "You do know, right, that we're dealing with professional criminals, and it isn't in your best interests to go around trying to pick
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