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“Make dinner together.” I made a face.
“Well, we’ve done that…”
“We get takeout,” I said. “I kind of made dinner for Coop.”
“Potato skins and mozzarella sticks,” Archie said. “That counts. So big fat check there.”
I laughed. The next one would be a little harder. “Go on a bike ride together.” They meant bicycle, but… “I rode with Ian.”
“Then check,” Jake said, leaning back on the sofa next to me and stretching his legs out.
“Scoot over.” Archie nudged me, and I almost ended up in Jake’s lap, not that he complained. As it was, they pretty much squished me between them. “Okay, what’s next?” He peered at the phone seriously.
“Sing karaoke.”
They burst out laughing, and I shook my head.
“I’m pretty sure since you did that with all of us, we can call that a check, right?” Jake teased.
My face had probably turned a prominent shade of crimson, but I pushed on and just laughed. “I think so, because you’re never getting me up there again.”
“That’s a challenge,” Archie murmured.
“Hmm-hmm.”
I didn’t even have to glance up to know they were plotting something.
“Next,” I said. “Go to a weird museum.”
“Weird museum?” Jake leaned in, and the stubble on his face brushed my cheek. It prickled and a shiver raced through me. “Define weird?”
Archie pulled out his phone. “Weird museums in Texas gets us—the Cockroach Museum.”
“Ewww.” I gaped at him.
“Hey, they dress them up in costumes.” Then at my continued gagging noise, he said, “It says weird museum, this is definitely weird.”
“That’s a hard no,” Jake commented. “What else do they have?”
Still laughing, Archie read off his list, “The Toilet Seat Museum, the guy there will tell you the stories of where they came from.”
“Ugh.” I shuddered. “That’s disgusting.”
“I’m assuming they’re clean,” Archie offered.
“Don’t assume,” Jake suggested, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me back against him.
“Point. Devil’s Rope Barbed Wire Museum.”
“Is that real?” I know the list said weird museum, but why would there be a museum for barbed wire?
“Yup,” Archie assured me, and showed me a picture on his phone. “So is the Salt Palace Museum—not only do they give you the history of salt, the building is made out of salt.”
“That could be kind of cool,” Jake muttered. “Maybe.”
“For kind of cool we have the Art Car Museum or the Garage Mahal as they call it. Oh, the Texas Prison Museum. Hey, we can get a picture taken in a real jail cell. Museum of the Weird—well that should be number one—if shrunken heads are your thing.”
I giggled. “Shrunken heads are not my thing.”
