Whiskey Chick by Ringbloom Ryan

Whiskey Chick by Ringbloom Ryan

Author:Ringbloom, Ryan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ryan Ringbloom
Published: 2018-09-08T16:00:00+00:00

It’s the S’mores

Everyone who ate the s’mores last night got sick.

The good news is that I didn’t eat one; the even better news is that neither did Remi. Unfortunately for everyone else, they did.

“Oh God, I want to die.” My brother exits the bathroom in his room. “Is she back yet?”

“Yes.” I deposit his share of the requested stomach aids onto the bedside table. Remi had taken my sister’s car to the local drugstore to stock up on supplies for all the s’mores victims.

There’s a knock at the door, and I open it up to Lori. She doesn’t look too bad. She steps inside, immediately going to tend to my sick brother.

“I only had a little nibble last night, I think I’m okay.” She tucks the blanket around Henry. “I’ll be here all day to take care of you.”

He has horrible diarrhea. Not sure what she’s gonna be able to do other than watch him run to the bowl. That oughta be a fun first date.

“Thank you,” he says in a weak baby-like voice. Gross. And on that note, I’m outta here.

Once I leave Henry’s room, I’m a free man. The last of the supplies have been handed out. Everyone has their meds, water, and extra TP. They’re all on their own now.

Down in the kitchen, Remi is sitting at the island sipping a cup of coffee. Her hair is pulled back in a bun, and she’s in jeans and a sweatshirt. Casual elegance. I can’t tear my eyes away from her.

“Ready to get out of here?” I ask. I’m in jeans and a button down, shaved and wearing cologne. She’s all mine for the day, and I plan on taking advantage of this amazing opportunity gifted to me by the tainted marshmallows gods.

“What?” She pushes over a cup of coffee she poured for me. “We can’t just leave everyone.”

“Oh yes we can. We’re not sick, and they’ll all be just fine on their own.”

“I feel bad.”

“Don’t.” They all have the shits. “Distance is the best thing we can do for them.”

“Where will we go?”

“Anywhere that’s not here.”

“So when you say out, do you mean just out or out like a date?” She picks up her coffee mug and hides her face while she waits for me to answer. This is her way of asking me about the things I said last night. Even though the beer prompted the words, I meant them all. So, hell yeah, a date, but I’m nervous to give it that label, especially given the history of our last date.

“The weather is actually nice, after all. We could take a ride toward town.” I don’t answer her question. “This time of year, there’s always stuff going on. Festivals and farmers’ markets and street fairs. Being this is the last long weekend of summer, there’s probably a ton of stuff to do.”

She places her mug down eyeing me suspiciously for ignoring her question.

“Okay. I’m up for a festival,” she says. “As long as it’s not golf.”

“No golf, I promise.


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