Page 156 of Manhattan Bossholes

“I beg to differ. Anything longer than an hour constitutes a road trip.”

“It could take you that long to drive across Manhattan during rush hour.”

“Is that you saying you don’t want snacks?”

“To eat in your fancy, ridiculously expensive car?” She pursed her lips, and I had a hell of a time focusing my gaze anywhere else.

“Yes.”

“That feels like a bad idea.”

“Ah, so you do want snacks—you just don’t think you should have them. Don’t worry,” I said, getting out of the car. I leaned back down, arching my brow. “If you mess up the upholstery, I’ll just buy a new one.”

“Oh, that makes me feel so much better,” she muttered.

“Are you coming inside? Or are you giving me total authority over snack selection?”

“Absolutely not,” she said, climbing out of the car and following me into the gas station. The aisles were small and crammed, but I managed to find the ultimate road trip essentials: mini-powdered donuts and an assortment of sour gummy candy. Cora picked out pretzels and chocolate-covered almonds.

“What are you smirking about?” she asked as we climbed back into my Ferrari.

“Nothing.” I passed her the plastic bag, amused to see our go-to snacks hadn’t changed much since high school. “Just that you still choose subpar gas station snacks.”

“Excuse me!” she cried. “What does that mean? Pretzels and chocolate are a classic combo!”

“Classic but not elite,” I clarified, checking my blind spots before I peeled out of the parking lot.

“And your mini donuts are elite, are they?” she said, digging the snacks out of the bag. She placed the box of donuts on the center console, popping it open for me. “I don’t even think these are made of real ingredients.”

“I try not to look too closely at the packaging.”

“Exactly!” Cora said, wiggling her finger at me. “You admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That my snack selections are the superior choice.”

I laughed. “I admit to nothing.”

“Remember when we used to sneak them into the movie theater when we were dating so we didn’t have to pay for overpriced popcorn?”

“Oh my God. Yes!” I said. “You used to stuff the pockets of my letterman jacket.”

“It was perfect for getting all those snacks in there.”

“I had to walk so slowly or else all the packages rattled.”

“And there was that manager who always suspected and would glare at you.”

“Stanley!” we both cried at the same time, grinning at each other.

“You used to poke my sides,” I accused playfully. “It was like you wanted me to get caught.”

Cora threw her head back and laughed. “I totally would have ditched you at the scene of the crime.”

“I can see you leaving me to unload my pockets with Stanley while you went in to watch Robert Pattinson sparkle.”

Cora gasped. “I forgot about my Twilight obsession.”