Page 59 of Amber Gambler

“I’m joking.” I nudged her shin with my foot. “Carter did do this to me, but I deserved it.”

Once I told her about the jump scare, she agreed I had earned the shiner. That didn’t stop her guffawing as I acted out the entire sequence with Kierce’s help. She slumped to the dirt in a giggling heap before it was over, which made the hurt worth it. It was good to see her laughing again. Even at my expense.

Though, to be fair, her laughter was usually at my expense.

“Okay.” She caught her breath and leaned back, palms in the dirt. “Now that I’ve got that out of my system, I’m going to need you to wear that shirt again tomorrow, Kierce. I’m out of laughs, but your choice in shirts is refueling me.”

Nudging me back onto the bench, he asked her, “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

Snorts and grunts poured out of her as she rolled back and forth on the ground like a pig in a sty.

“There’s nothing wrong with your shirt.” I fixed his collar. “Josie is just being Josie.”

A solid five minutes later, she had run out of juice—and air—and rested with tears drying on her cheeks.

“Are you done?” I decided ibuprofen would do me good right about now. “Or do you have more to go?”

Wheezing, she rocked into an upright position and lifted a single finger. She rubbed her throat, rose on wobbly feet, then jogged up the stairs to her apartment.

“I guess we wait.” I leaned my shoulder against his. “Or we could hide in the office with the lights out.”

“Something tells me she would find us.”

The glare off his Hawaiian shirt would lead the way, but I wasn’t about to tell him so. “You’re right.”

An eternity later, when I had gone as long as I could without pain relief, I stood with the intent to wait on her in my air-conditioned office. I made it all of three feet before footsteps pounded on the stairs behind us, and I braced for what had put such pep in her step.

“Found it,” she called, as if we had a clue what she meant. “Kierce, ditch that shirt.”

Prepared to defend his fashion choices, I squared off against my sister. “Josie…”

“Trust me.” She bounced in place. “Frankie will keep your…that…safe.”

With more trust than I would have shown her at this point, he shrugged out of his shirt and passed it to me with the solemness of a vow. I set my jaw and nodded, hoping it conveyed I would protect it with my life. What he read in my expression reassured him enough to face Josie.

“One of my exes was big into vintage.” She skipped her gaze to mine. “Like Frankie here.”

“I wouldn’t say I’mbiginto vintage.” I cast heart eyes at my wagon. “My car isn’t my entire personality.”

“For that to be true, you would have to give her a black-on-black paint job and stencil tombstones on the hood.” She twirled her finger, ordering me to turn around and give them privacy. “And if you tried that, I guarantee Pedro would have a heart attack and die on the spot.” She cleared her throat. “Again.”

Ah, yes, the expected subtle reminder everyone thought my job was my entire personality. I really ought to do more about that one of these days. Except—with the Hawaiian shirt in hand—I could admit that I would be happier if everyone left me to my quirks and quit judging what I wanted against what they wanted for me.

Fabric rustled behind me, and Josie hummed to herself. I heard a snap and then smelled coconut.

“Don’t give me that look, mister.” Josie made it an order. “Hold still, and it will be over soon.”

“What are you doing to him?” The urge to spin back twitched in my spine. “You okay, Kierce?”

His answering grunt did nothing to convince me. Neither did Josie’s maniacal laughter.

Badb, who perched on the neighbor’s fence with her prize, chortled at him.

“Ready or not,” I warned them, “I can’t take the suspense.”

Sucking in a breath, I pivoted on my heel, braced for anything.

Air leaked out of my lungs as I got an eyeful of the black bowling shirt with red and white flames stitched on the pocket. She had cuffed his jeans so they hit at his ankles, exposing a few inches of his white socks above his sneakers. Based on his slicked-back hair, the tropical smell had been styling gel.

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