Page 59 of Once Kissed

Nope. I have no options…until the next SUV pulls in and I find my opportunity.

This SUV is specially designed to accommodate someone who uses a wheelchair. A ramp is carefully lowered and the driver, a guy about my age, jumps out and tosses his keys to the valet, smiling. He waits beside a woman in a fur coat, until what appears to be a paraplegic man eases his way down the ramp. The woman in the fur coat dotes on him, while the young guy reaches up to help a striking young woman out of the vehicle.

The young woman has my attention, but it’s not because of her looks, or because she’s dressed all in red. I know her, and know her well. I scroll through the contacts on my cellphone and hit her number. As I watch, the older man scoots ahead in his high-tech chair with his woman at his side, and the young guy hits a button to withdraw the ramp. The valet speeds away at the same time the hot chick in red digs out her phone from the bottom of her purse.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Lety,” I say, watching her. “It’s Curran.”

“Hi, Curran,” she says, sounding surprised. Has it been more than a year since we talked?

Her date slides his arm around her and leads her toward the line of people waiting to get in. “Can I call you back? I’m at an event.”

“That’s actually what I’m calling about. I need to get into that event.”

“What?”

“I said I need to get in. By the way, you look great in red.”

She freezes, then slowly looks around. “Where are you?”

“Blue F-150 across the street and to your right.”

Even from here I can see her smiling. “What are you up to?” she asks through her teeth.

“Nothing bad.”

“That’s what you said when we broke into your father’s liquor cabinet,” she whispers tightly.

“Hey, we wouldn’t have gotten caught if you hadn’t fallen down the steps.”

“You puked in my hair, Curran,” she mumbles.

“Yeah, but it was a total accident. Listen, this time I swear I mean it.”

Her date leans in and whispers something in her ear. She covers the mic and says something I don’t catch. “Curran, I don’t know. This is a private function.”

“Lety, I promise I won’t get you in trouble. But I’m serious when I say I need to get into that party. Say you’ll help me, kid.”

“Curran…”

“Come on,” I press. “You and me, we’re practically family.”

She edges to the front of the line, where her date passes security two envelopes. “Give me ten,” she says, and then disconnects.

Yeah. It’s good to have friends.

—

Lety walks out a little later, huddling in her red wool coat. She waits until several limos pull up to the curb before she crosses the street and heads to my truck. We exchange those cheek kisses we always do when she slips inside.

“Hey. You said ten. That was more like sixteen.”

She stops in the middle of fumbling through her coat. “You want my help or not, copper?”

“Okay, it was actually fifteen.” She shakes her head, smiling, and passes me a black jacket. “What’s this?”

“My boyfriend’s suit jacket. You’ll need it to get in. You’ll also need this.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out an invitation to the event. “Your name’s Brody Quaid Moore—unless you get caught. Got it?”

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