Page 25 of Eden's Joker

“Come on, let me do this for you,” he says. “I can afford these books too.”

The way he can go from stone cold hard to boyish and charming is enough to give me whiplash. But when he smiles at me like this, I forget to worry about that. Or anything else for that matter.

“All right, thank you,” I say and give him another peck on the cheek. This time the effect is pure lava flowing into my chest, but I somehow managed not to keep kissing him. He looks like he’s fighting the same battle of trying not to kiss me. I hope he loses.

The sidewalk is busy and people have to walk around us because we’re just standing here, rooted to the spot. I feel like I’m getting lost in the frozen fields in his eyes and I like it.

“This… bringing me to this store… that’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in a while,” I say once I process that a kiss isn’t coming.

“I’m glad and you’re welcome,” he says, his eyes still soft like he’s about to kiss me for real.

“But I’ll return the favor,” I add and his eyes go even softer, before turning to ice right in front of my eyes.

“It wasn’t a favor, Eden. It was a gift,” he says harshly. “Now, let’s go get something to eat. And before you offer, I’m paying for that too.”

He takes my hand and leads me down the street, walking almost too fast.

“I wasn’t going to,” I tell him and laugh.

“Good,” he says and leaves it at that.

I sure do enjoy reading about it, but I didn’t think I’d be into getting bossed around by a man I like in real life. Turns out, I do like it. A lot. I hope there’s more of it coming before this night is through.

16

Joker

Everything was going perfectly until she started flaunting the Devils’ blood money in my face. I’m sure they have lots of it and I’m sure they give her lots of it too. Money gotten by killing folks like my parents. Folks who didn’t deserve to die any more than my parents did. But me fuming about it in this golden sunset light of what was supposed to be a perfect date with Eden isn’t gonna change any of that. Nothing’s gonna change any of that, not even killing them, to be honest. But what I have planned for Eden will hopefully at least make it more bearable.

She’s trotting along behind me, letting me lead her down the sidewalk like she’s already mine. And sneaking peeks into the bag of books she so graciouslylet me buy for her. On a promise of paying me back… man, how is she able to get under my skin so bad? Never happened with any other woman. But that’s probably because I was never this focused on any other woman.

I nearly stride right past the small Italian restaurant I’m taking her to. It’s on one of the side streets and looks like we just left Cali and walked into Italy as we enter it. All the tables are covered with identical red and white checkered tablecloths, and an unlit candle in a wine bottle is standing on each. The place is about half-full and all the street-facing windows are open, letting in the fresh air and offering a great view of the town park that surrounds their church. But all the fresh air in the world can’t chase away the smell of garlic hanging over everything like it always does in Italian restaurant.

“This place is so nice,” she says as the grinning waiter seats us at a table for two by one of the windows and pours each of us a glass of water.

“The Osso Buco is especially tender today,” the waiter says as he hands us our menus. “But everything else on the menu is delicious too. Let me know when you’re ready.”

I grunt and nod, and she thanks him in her crystal clear, birdsong-y voice, which makes him grin even wider.

“Now if only I knew if Osso Buco being tender is agood thing or not, the decision would be easier,” I mumble as I scan the menu.

Her laugh sounds like wind chimes moved by a warm summer wind, I swear. “It some kind of meat dish. But this place looks exactly like that scene in the Lady and the Tramp cartoon, so we have to get a plate of Spaghetti Pomodoro. To share.”

She closes her menu and slams it against the table, looking very satisfied with herself.

Her reference threw me for a moment. “You’re talking about the cartoon with the dogs?”

“That’s the one,” she says. “With the pretty lady dog and the mutt.”

“And I suppose I’m the mutt,” I say, locking eyes with her. She sighs then actually shudders as she holds my gaze.

“Well, you’re no lady.”

She’s trying to keep a straight face, but the edges of her mouth are curling up and her lips are shivering from the strain.

“Oh, come on,” she finally says. “Why are you in such a bad mood now?”

Anything I could say would come out pouty and childish.

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