Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
I chuckle. Those were my words exactly and I meant them. Anyone puts her in danger, I’m going to go medieval on his ass. But the old Mina would never say a word like fucker, even repeating me. She’d turn it into fudger or funker or something. This Mina doesn’t seem to give a shit.
Mina grins at me, just nudging the car on another couple of miles per hour, and I don’t complain even though we’re over the limit enough to get pulled over. I’ve driven this road a billion times, you can see for miles and there’s never been a cop hiding in a speed trap—
Before I can finish the thought, I spot the red and blue lights flashing in the rear view as a cop car pulls out from behind a billboard, quickly catching up with us.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Don’t panic, baby. Pull over, let me handle it.”
“We could outrun them,” she says, glancing in the mirror. “This car is fast.”
Jesus Christ, I’ve created a monster. I shake my head. “No, baby. Just pull over.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure.”
“Okay,” she whines, easing off and pulling off onto the shoulder.
The cop does the same behind us, and I watch as he gets out of the car, taking note of my plates and putting a hand on the trunk as he walks up to the driver’s side. It’s just the one cop, and it’s not like we were racing or anything. With any luck, it’s just a slow day and he’ll extol the virtues of safe driving for a moment before letting us get on our way, and never even ask for Mina’s non-existent licence.
“Licence and registration please,” he says, looking down at her. With the sun out and the open road in front of us, Mina insisted on having the top down and I couldn’t say no.
I open my mouth, ready to come to her aid but Mina beats me to it.
She grins up at him, a cute little blush across her cheeks as she innocently bites her lip. “Hi, officer. How are you today?”
He sighs. “Licence and registration please, ma’am.”
“Oh, you don’t need to see those. I was only this much over the speed limit.” She holds up a hand, her fingers a fraction of an inch apart. “Can’t you just let us off this once? I promise I won’t do it again.”
“Look, ma’am, I can’t do it. My sergeant is already on my ass about sleeping on the job when I’m out here. If he found out—”
“Oh, how’s he going to find out though? It’s empty out here. You could just go back to your car, close your eyes and forget—” A look of confusion comes over her face as she mutters forget again to herself, and my heart jumps into my throat.
Not now.
Fuck, she can’t be remembering something right now.
“Like I forgot,” she murmurs, and I open my mouth, ready to come up with some explanation for everything that I’ve done.
There’s a fucking police officer right there. Can she consent if she doesn’t even remember who I am?
Then she shakes her head and smiles again. “You could forget you ever saw us. Couldn’t he, Daddy?”
She glances over at me, and so does the cop. I watch as he pulls down his shades, inspecting me for a long moment, as I open my mouth trying to figure out how to explain.
He makes a clicking noise in his throat. “Jackson Sanders?” He squints. “It is you, isn’t it? Damn, I thought you looked familiar! That was one hell of a hail Mary you pulled off in the Cotton Bowl.”
Mina is grinning. “It’s him, officer. Now, about my licence and—”
“Forget it,” he says. “Like you said, who’s going to know?” He turns his attention back my way “Hey, you know my son is a big fan. Any way I could get an autograph? It’d make his day, maybe get me onto my wife’s good side, if you know what I’m saying.”
I laugh and nod. “Sure. You got anything I can sign. Maybe—?”
“In the car. I’ll be one second, then I’ll let you folks get on your way.”
He jogs away, Mina winking my way. “I handled it.” She chirps as I reach over the grab her chin. “You’re so famous though. I’m going to get an internet connection that works and find out all about my famous Daddy.”
“What you’re going to find out is exactly what ‘getting handled’ means, as soon as we get home,” I tell her, turning the conversation to something I can control. The phone has perfect internet connection. What it also has is a block on any pages that mention the name Sanders. I couldn’t be too careful. “No flirting. Even if it gets you out of a ticket.”
“Mean daddy.” She pouts as I nod.
“Sometimes, baby. Sometimes.”
Jesus, that was too close.