“Oh, can you stop here?” I pointed to the twenty-four-hour gas station.
“We have snacks at home.” Again, with the “we” and the “home.” If this man didn’t stop it right now, I’d end up falling in love with him.
Despite his disapproving words, Reid pulled into the empty parking lot without a fight.
“I’ll be right back, you can stay in the car.”
But he was already turning off the engine and climbing out.
“You don’t have to come in,” I said again, walking up to the brightly lit entrance and pushing the door open.
Reid rolled his eyes and grabbed the door, holding it while I stepped through and started browsing the aisles. “As if I would let you go into a gas station by yourself at midnight.”
“My protector,” I teased.
“Well, you clearly need one.”
No snack called my name. Instead, I snagged a cup off the back wall and examined the slushy flavors before pouring myself a lemon-lime one.
“Really?”
“Are you telling me you don’t like slushies?” I asked, licking the top of my lid where some had started to overflow.
“I did when I was ten.”
“You’re missing out.”
“It’s, like, thirty degrees outside.”
“Good thing your car has a heater.”
We meandered to the front of the store where one man lingered, paying for cigarettes. He patted his pockets and slid over one dollar at a time. After finally coming up with exact change, he stepped away and we moved to the front.
“Just this?” The young woman behind the glass divider asked, pointing to my drink.
“And a daily double,” I said, scanning the selection of tickets behind her.
I could feel Reid’s eyes on me, but I ignored him. When I tried to pull out my wallet to pay, Reid was too quick, already sliding a few bills across the counter.
Once we were back in his car, engine on, he let out a sigh. “Hazel, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the odds of you winning the lottery twice are incomprehensible.”
“Actually, the odds are the same as when I won the first time. I think that means I have an even better chance. I mean, who wins the lottery, right?” I smiled up at him, opening his center console to search for a quarter or something to reveal the ticket.
He laughed. “I can promise you, it doesn’t work like that.”
“This sucker right here is my best shot at the so-called American Dream.”
He squinted and watched me as I scratched it off.
“Damn, not this time.” I surveyed the losing numbers before giving a silent nod to Gran, wherever she was in the universe.
“I could have told you that before you even bought the ticket,” he said, pulling the car into reverse and driving us back to his house.
We rode in silence for a bit, just the sound of the radio softly playing in the background. When we pulled into his driveway, I guzzled the last of my slushie.
“I’m freezing,” I said, teeth chattering.
“You’re ridiculous.”
