Free Popped Off by Jeffrey Allen

bugged me. I worked them through my head while getting the house squared away, but nothing clicked. It was frustrating. I felt like I’d learned a bunch of new things about Huber, but was nowhere closer to figuring out exactly what was going on with him. The only thing I felt sure about was that he definitely had some money issues. And it sure looked like he had some sort of gambling problem. I could see how that might lead to him stealing money, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why he might run off with a bunch of crappy trophies.
    Julianne came home early, and I pushed the thoughts of Moises Huber out of my head so we could enjoy the two-hour drive north to the Oklahoma border.
    Except the traffic out of Dallas on a Friday afternoon was murder, and we ended up doing about fifteen miles per hour for the first hour.
    “Have we ever gone to a casino together?” Julianne pondered from the passenger seat as we inched forward in the stop-and-go traffic.
    “I don’t think so.”
    “You’ve been to Vegas without me.”
    “Yeah.”
    “You didn’t invite me,” she accused.
    “I believe you said, ‘Vegas is filled with hookers and cigarettes. Why would anyone go there?’”
    “Still. I didn’t receive an invitation.”
    “It was for a bachelor party,” I reminded her.
    She smirked. “I’m not debating the reason for the trip. I’m simply pointing out I wasn’t invited.”
    “Well, I know it’s weighed on you forever, so that’s why I thought I should make up for it this weekend.”
    “So Comanche River is just like Caesars Palace?”
    “Very similar.”
    “It will sate my desire to go to Las Vegas?”
    “Yes. It’s exactly like Las Vegas.” I paused. “Only in Oklahoma.”
    “That doesn’t sound . . . right.”
    I laughed. “My only goal is to make you happy and give you what you think you’re missing.”
    She laughed and squeezed my hand.
    We drove in silence for a while, the radio playing quietly. It was one of the things I enjoyed most about my wife. She didn’t have to make chatter just to hear herself talk. We could sit there and be content with the quiet.
    “What do you want to name the baby?” she asked as the traffic started to open up.
    “The baby? You’re pregnant now?”
    “I’m going to be.”
    “Of course you are. How about we conceive first, then plan the name?”
    “Negative, Ghost Rider,” she said. “I’m going to be pregnant very soon, so we should start discussing these things.”
    “Why? You’ve stated in the past that you have ninety-five percent of the naming rights, due to your ability to carry the child. That leaves me with only an irrelevant five percent.”
    “True,” she admitted. “But I like to make you feel included.”
    “Fine. Chuck and Sally.”
    “You aren’t taking this seriously.” She squeezed my hand tighter. “I’ll cut your irrelevant rights to three percent for that if you’re not careful.”
    “Hurt me.”
    “Names, please, Mr. Driver.”
    I glanced out the window as we passed the University of North Texas athletic complex. “If it’s a boy, Kellen.”
    “What is a Kellen?”
    “It’s a name.”
    “Name of what?”
    “A boy.”
    “And whom else?”
    I rolled my eyes. “Jeez, Jules. I dunno. You asked me for a name. I gave you one.”
    “You know, it’s harder for me to conceive if I’m stressed out.”
    She was switching tracks faster than a race-car driver.
    “Uh. Okay.”
    “And right now you’re not doing much to keep my stress levels down when I’m trying to talk to you about the baby.”
    “Maybe we should stop for beer.”
    “Alcohol is actually a conception inhibitor. So no.”
    “Wait.” I glanced in her direction. “You won’t be drinking tonight?”
    “No.”
    “What if I wanted to have drunk sex with you?”
    She leaned over in the seat and placed her hand on my thigh. “I don’t need to be drunk to be fantastic in bed.”
    I swallowed. “I know.”
    Her fingers dug into my thigh.