Page 5 of Christmas With the Convict

“They must pay good money to teach inmates poetry and shit.” I cringe, wishing I didn’t grow up swearing like a fucking sailor. This girl is too pure for my tongue.

But Wendy fires back. “That’s a volunteer gig. I’m in graduate school. English. One day, I’ll get paid to teach undergraduates poetry and shit.”

We share a smile. I don’t press her anymore on the car or her money. If her family has a place in Aspen, then I’m sure it was pocket change for her parents to buy their daughter a luxury vehicle.

“So, where are you from?” she asks, stretching out a bit and cracking her neck.

“I could take over driving if you want.”

“Yeah, in a bit. Don’t change the subject.”

I sigh and stare out the window. We’re already climbing. Snow is piling up along the edge of the highway, in the trees, and on the mountains.

“I’m from a little mountain town up north you’ve never heard of. You from Aspen?”

“Nope. I’m from Denver,” she says casually. “But we’ve had the place in Aspen since I was a kid. It’s ski-in, ski-out. We usually spend a good chunk of our winters there.”

When I was growing up, Aspen was a fantasy. A place that only existed in movies and dreams. This girl knew it as well as I knew the junkyard as a boy.

“That must have been nice growing up,” I say. “What do your parents do?”

Wendy shrugs. “My mom’s a college professor. Western History.”

“And your dad?”

“Wow, I’m beat.” She lets out an over-dramatic yawn. “You ready to drive?”

I narrow my eyes at her.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Oh, Dad’s retired.” She winces before delivering the death blow. “He was a cop.”

My palms hit the dashboard like I’m bracing for a crash. “A cop?”

“Well, a police chief.”

A fucking cop.

“Let me out.”

“Chase, it’s not a—“

“Seriously,” I growl. “Let me off here. Thanks for everything, but I’ll catch a ride.“

Wendy glares at me. “I’m not gonna do that.”

I knew this was a bad idea.

“I can’t spend fucking Christmas in a cop’s house.” My heart is racing. This seat is searing hot. “Look at me. He’ll hate me on sight. I’ll be back in fucking jail before New Year’s.”

“You’re my guest,” she says. “And my dad will listen to me. He’sretired.He’s not walking around his vacation home with a K-9.”

“This is insane.” I stare her down. “You know that, right?”

“And letting you wander alone on the highway three days before Christmas issane?” Wendy scoffs. “Bullshit. I was raised better than that. If my dad has a problem with you because of your record, he’s not the man I thought he was.”

This is how it starts.

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