“I know you’re arrogant, cocky, and egotistical.”
“Arrogant, cocky, and egotistical with a charming smile.” He’s cheeky.
I kick myself for ever saying that. I’ll have to remember to never make that backhanded mistake again. He eats it up like shit on a spoon.
“Can you just drive?”
“I can.” He drums on the steering wheel to a Thomas Rhett song. His lackadaisical attitude drives me nuts.
Thankfully, Tate spares me for a few hours as we drive north on the dusty highway.
My attention flies up from my phone when Tate suddenly hits the gas.
“What are you doing? Slow down.” I watch the speedometer race past eighty.
“The hotel is five miles away, and I have to pee.”
“You should have peed at the rest stop like I told you!”
“I didn’t have to go then.”
I glance down at the empty forty-ounce fountain soda sitting in the cup holder between us. “No wonder you have to go now.”
“We’ll get there fine.” His expression is strained. He’s going to pee his pants. I want to laugh, but I don’t. I can’t believe he’s such a bone head.
“You need to slow down. There could be speed traps,” I warn too late. Not a second after I finish my sentence does the ominous sound of awhoop-whoopfrom a siren scream behind us, and the red-and-blue lights of a cop car reflect in the rearview mirror.
“Hijo de la chingada,” Tate mutters under his breath.
“I’m going to fucking kill you.” I whip my head at him.
“No need for death threats yet.” He shifts uncomfortably.
I glare at him with enough force to put a gale to shame.
“Just get the insurance card,” Tate snaps. It’s the first time I’ve seen a crack in his aloof demeanor.
With half-a-million dollars of cocaine in the trunk, this situation is bound to break even the most meditative mind.
Tate already has the window rolled down when the officer appears. He’s mean-looking, mustached, and muscled. His name tag bolsters Officer Jimenez.
“Do you know how fast you were going?” he asks, all business.
“Yes,” I interject immediately with the sweetest southern accent I can muster. Tate slowly turns his head in my direction, eyes wider than two Christmas platters with all the fixings. “I told him to slow down. He was goin’ too fast, but his bladder was getting the better of him. I told him not to drink forty ounces of soda, too.” I nod down at the empty plastic cup. “You go on and give him a ticket. He deserves it, officer.”
Officer Jimenez peers into the cup with only melting ice left in it. Then into the back seat of the truck.
“You’ve got a live one, huh?” Officer Jimenez muses as he looks over Tate’s driver’s license and insurance card.
“I do.” Tate full-on smiles, playing along. “She keeps me in check.”
My heart pounds slowly in my ears. He holds on to the documents for what seems like a lifetime. “The best investment any man can make is in a good woman.”
Tate glances over at me. “I couldn’t agree more, sir.”
I want to scowl, but I just keep a complacent expression on my face. They are complimenting me after all.
“Where are you two headed?”
