Page 153 of Menace in Vegas

“She probably bribed them with weed gummies and a promise not to flash them,” I mutter.

Gram perks up. “Ooh, that reminds me. I packed my edibles in my bra. Let me know if anyone wants to try snorkeling today.”

I close my eyes. “We’re not getting arrested for drugs in Key West.”

Allie snorts into her coffee.

I open them and level Gram with a look. “Why do you have weed anyway? Weed brownies, weed cookies, weed gummies… that’s not normal. You’re seventy-two.”

She shrugs a shoulder. “They’re medicinal. And age is just a number.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Medicin?—”

A voice inside my head tells me it’s not worth trying to understand her.

“Anyway,” I say, trying to salvage the morning. I eye my gorgeous wife and rub my hands together. “I have a plan for today.”

Allie narrows her eyes. “This better not be like the time your plan involved a paddle boat and three wild chickens. Ford told me all about it.”

“That was a fluke,” I lie. “And never listen to Ford. He’s broody, boring, and dead to me.”

Gram snickers. “That sounds like fun.”

I ignore her. “Today’s plan is wholesome and calming. A bonding activity for us.”

Gram cackles. “You’re taking her parasailing, aren’t you?”

I stare at her. “How do you?—”

“I read your notes,” she says, patting her giant purse.

I nearly choke. “You read my honeymoon itinerary?”

“It was printed and left in the glove box of the rental car.”

“How… You were in the car?”

She shrugs. “I had to do something while you two were doing the horizontal tango. I could hear you outside.”

Allie covers her face, but not before I see how red it is.

She exhales and looks up. “Connor. What are we doing today?”

I push Gram’s chaos aside and grin at her. “Jet skis, paddleboarding, and a sunset booze cruise.”

She stares. “So… nothing calming?”

“Bonding happens through adrenaline,” I tell her. “And potential near-death experiences.”

Gram slings a pineapple towel over her shoulder. “Let’s ride, bitches.”

I groan. Gram tagging along is not exactly what I had in mind.

Somewhere in Boston, Ford is laughing his smug ass off.

I hope he chokes on a protein bar.

Allie is clinging to me on the jet ski, screaming something about “this being grounds for divorce,” while Gram speeds past us on her own rental, throwing back shots of coconut rum from a flask labeledGram’s Go-Go Juice.

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