Chapter 18
eighteen
GENEVA
I don’t know what I was imagining, but sex with Peter is perfect. He’s not afraid to push the limits, but he also likes it slow and intimate. Like this morning when I woke up with my leg hooked over his hip and his cock inside me. The slow grind while he gazed into my eyes was more emotional than anything I’ve experienced before. It was almost on another level.
“Wow, it’s really starting to come down,” he says, walking up behind me. I guess I’ll have to store my thoughts of sex with Peter until later. I’ve been standing outside for a few minutes now, wondering if we’ll get out today.
“It is,” I agree. We’re standing under the overhang of the hotel. “Do you think we’ll be okay heading out?”
“I think so. It’s odd to have snow this early. The desk said it shouldn’t be this bad once we go farther south.”
“Okay, then.”
I step out into the snow toward the SUV. Peter follows me with our bags. I made sure he had the bag of toys when we checked out. Don’t want to leave that one behind. He stores our bags in the back, and we both settle inside.
“At least we shouldn’t have to fight any traffic,” he points out. He starts the car and we pull out of the parking lot. The snow hits the windshield. Peter turns the wipers up another notch. I watch as Santa Fe disappears behind us in a blanket of white.
We ride in companionable silence for miles, both of us lost in our thoughts. I’m studying Peter out of the corner of my eye when I see him yawn. My only real job on this road trip has been to make sure I keep the driver awake. He insists on driving, so I’ve settled for being the entertainment.
“Guess what time it is?” I tease, reaching behind me for a magazine.
“What quiz could possibly be left? We already know you’re my type, we’re both going to be awesome spouses, and I’m more than adequate in bed,” he grouses.
“You’re better than adequate.”
“You’re more than adequate, too. You’re a freak in bed.” I smack him with the magazine. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
“Anyway, back to the quiz. It’s a would you rather one,” I say. “Would you rather accidentally text nudes to your parents or butt-dial them during sex?”
“Come on. What kind of a question is that?” He stares out the windshield at the blowing snow as he thinks about his answer.
“I guess the nudes. I might be able to warn them in time before they open the text. I don’t know. Once they figured out what was happening on a butt dial, they should hang up the phone. That’s a damn choice, either way. Just the thought of Mom listening to us having sex is enough to give me nightmares.”
“I’d want to butt-dial my father. Then I’m going to scream your name over and over so he knows exactly who I’m fucking. That should induce a heart attack.”
“Harsh,” he says with a laugh. “I appreciate you included me though.”
“Would you rather walk in on your grandmother having sex, or would you rather she walk in on you?”
“Ahh, if Grandma Winsloe was still alive, I’d be all about her getting some. But I don’t want to see it. I’ll have to pick her walking in on me. She liked you too, so I think she would have been okay with that.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I just met your grandma Winsloe once, but I think it would be better for her to walk in on us too. Though we could save everyone a lot of drama with a few bedroom door locks.”
“You make a good point.”
“That’s very true. Moving on. Would you rather only be able to have sex in the shower or on the floor?”
“I’m not sure. We’ve done both. What did you prefer?” he asks.
“Well, I like the water aspect, but most accidents in the home happen in the bathroom. Makes sense to avoid that. The averages are against us.”
“I see your point. If you’re already on the floor, there’s no chance of falling. So we’re safe saying we vote floor?”
“Absolutely,” I agree. “Would you rather your best friend marry your dad, or would you rather you were allergic to sex of any kind?”
“Rand can have my dad,” he says. “I’m not giving up sex for some stupid allergy. It’ll just make family holidays a little more awkward.”
I throw my head back and laugh. The thought of straight-laced Mr. Winsloe hooking up with my brother is absurd. Looking at Peter, I find him grinning too. He’s well aware the chances of that are less than zero percent.
I take a minute to appreciate how his eyes light up when he laughs now. Something inside him has changed. He doesn’t scowl like he used to. Even though this is the most ridiculous quiz so far, he’s laughing at it with me.
“I like this look on you,” I say.
“What look is that?”
“Me. I like the way I look on you.”
“So do I. Very much, especially from my back.”
I shake my head. The man is crazy, but I haven’t managed to erase the smile off my face. I never knew being with Peter could be so easy. I flip several pages of the magazine. Is it just my imagination or has it grown darker in the SUV? Glancing at the windshield, I find the snow coming down even harder than before.
“Is it my imagination, or has the storm kicked up?” I ask.
“No, it’s definitely coming down harder than when we left.”
“So much for the storm letting up the farther south we get. I can barely see off the front of the hood.” I check my phone to see if I can figure out where we are. There’s no service. “I can’t get any service, or I could check the weather.”
“Yeah, there’s not much out here. We’ll pull off in the next town. Maybe we can find out what it looks like for the rest of the day.”
I nod and gaze back out of the windshield. My magazine lies forgotten on my lap. It seems frivolous to be interested in some ridiculous sex quiz when Peter is white-knuckling the steering wheel. The best choice is for me to remain quiet so he can focus on driving.
“Any idea where we are?” I know, I promised to be quiet. But it’s eerie outside. It feels like we’re all alone in a horror movie. With the darkness surrounding us, it looks like fog as thick as soup. Peter slows down even more as the wheels slip on the ice that is forming. We need to get off the road.
“I’d guess somewhere near the Texas border, but I’m not positive,” he says. “Shit!”
I turn back to the windshield just in time to see what he’s looking at. A huge deer is standing a few feet in front of the Rover. Its antlers stretch out from its head like a forest. I grab the door rest as we begin to slide. The SUV misses the buck by inches as we careen off the road.
We stop in the ditch, inches from a fence this time. My heart is pounding in my chest hard enough that I’m sure Peter can hear it. We’re lucky that all four wheels are still on the ground. It would have been easy to flip over as we slid.
“Are you okay?” Peter’s voice is frantic.
“I’m fine. Nothing hurt.”
“He came out of nowhere,” he says. “He stood higher than the hood. I didn’t want to hit him and take a chance on him coming through the windshield.”
“No, I agree.” We both sound slightly hysterical. I’m sure it’s just the adrenaline dump.
Peter nods and places the Rover back in drive. He presses the gas pedal. Nothing happens but the sound of wheels spinning. He fiddles with the instrument cluster before trying again. We get the same result.
“Mother—” He ends with a frustrated sigh. “Wait here, I’m going to see if I can figure out what the problem is.” He pulls on his coat and opens the door. The wind is blowing so hard, I’m hit by snow before he can slam the door closed.
I watch as he investigates the front of the car and then moves toward the back. I unhook my seat belt so I can kneel on the seat to follow him. He keeps shaking his head. That can’t be good.
“Is everything okay?” I ask the minute he drops back into the driver’s seat. He sits for a moment before answering me. My anxiety amps up a thousandfold.
“I think we’re stuck,” he finally says. “The ground must have already been muddy when the snow started. Between the ice and mud in the ruts, it can’t get any traction.”
“What do we do?”
“Do you have any service?” We both check our phones. I shake my head in answer. “Yeah, me either. Well, we’ll just hunker down here until someone comes along. We have plenty of warm clothes and sleeping bags.”
I don’t ask all the questions swirling through my head. What if no one comes and we freeze? What if the wrong person comes? What if he hurts us, or worse?
“Are your true crime podcasts getting in your head?” he asks.
“A little,” I admit.
“We’ll be fine. I promise.”
A weird thing happens. I actually believe him. Peter hasn’t let me down yet. If a mountain and a river couldn’t get me, a little snow isn’t going to either. He turns the engine off. Leaning over the front seat, he begins rummaging through our stuff.
“Here, slide into your sleeping bag.” He hands it to me. “It’s going to get cold fast. When we can’t stand it anymore, I’ll start the Rover up to get some heat. I don’t want to take a chance on running out of gas though.” He pulls out my gloves, hat, and scarf too. I dutifully pull them on before wiggling into the sleeping bag.
“Do you think we’ll be here long?” If we’re going to be here in this dim car for hours, I need to figure out how to stave off boredom. That and keep my mind off of random serial killers.
“I don’t know.”
“So—” I’m fishing for something, anything to talk about.
“So,” he says, reading my mind. “I’d like to hear more about this wedding between my dad and your brother.”
“You know it would be beautiful,” I say with a laugh.
“True. My dad cuts a decent silver fox in a tux.”
“And my brother looks like he could be on the cover of GQ .”
“Yeah, if Joseph Randolph did nothing else, he did pass down some good genes.”
“David Winsloe didn’t do so bad himself. Do you think if we had kids, they’d look like Keats?”
“Are you offering to find out?” he teases. “Maybe he does look like Rand. I’d be good with the girls looking like you. Though, I’d have to keep a bat handy by the front door to beat the boys off.”
“But not to keep the girls at bay? You know they can be just as bad.”
“I can’t exactly take after some woman with a bat. I’ll leave you to deal with them.”
“How old are we talking before the kids are allowed to date?” I ask.
“I’d say at least thirty-five, maybe forty.” I laugh. “The girls anyway.”
“That’s a double standard.”
“Absolutely. But no nasty man is going to tie one of my precious daughters to the bed and fuck her while I’m around.”
“So that only works when your wife is involved?”
“Now you’re starting to understand.” He grins at me. I know he’s teasing. My daughters will be strong, independent women who will know how to get what they want out of life. Why are we even talking about our hypothetical children in the first place?
A fist knocks on the window and we both jump. Peter steps out of the car. I can see a man in a jacket with a patch on the arm. Do killers wear patches on their clothes?
I watch as they walk to the front. They both bend over to look at something. They straighten up, still talking. Finally, Peter walks back to the driver’s door.
“We’re getting a ride to town. I’ll get our bags and come back to help you. Button up your coat.”
“Wait,” I say. “How do we know he’s safe?”
“Well, I don’t think highway patrolmen usually make skinsuits out of people. I guess it’s possible, but we’ll just have to take our chances.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as he closes the door. Checking my phone, I find we’ve been sitting here a lot longer than I thought. Hopefully, someone in town can help us get on our way. A hot meal would be welcome at the very least.
“Ready?” Peter asks, opening the door again. I finish zipping up my jacket, grab my purse, and climb over his seat. The cold hits me like a sledgehammer. Peter helps me slide across the patchy ice until I’m deposited inside the patrol SUV. The officer has the heat running on high.
“I’m glad I was doing one last sweep before heading in for the night,” the officer says. “Deputy Gonzales,” he continues, extending a hand to me. “You can call me Mateo.”
“Thank you so much, Mateo. I can’t imagine spending all night out there,” I say.
“It would have sure been a cold one,” he agrees.
“Can you take us to the nearest hotel?” Peter asks from the back seat. “I can call a tow truck to pull us out tomorrow.”
“I’ll arrange a truck for you,” Mateo says. “Afraid the hotel is all booked up because of the storm. I might have an idea of somewhere you can stay though.”
“We’d be grateful,” Peter answers.
“Of course. Now hang on, folks. This is going to be a heck of a ride.”