Page 6 of Blind Luck

Was Ari being sarcastic? I thought she was being sarcastic.

“Folks from People’s Promise didn’t believe in medicine, only God’s will. If my dad had died at home instead of at the feed store, nobody would ever have found out.”

And the whole course of my life would have been different, Ari’s too.

Dad had only gone to the feed store because a neighbour had stolen his layer pellets. And I was eighty percent sure the neighbour had stolen the layer pellets because Dad had borrowed his spade and returned it broken. He’d only returned it broken because a different neighbour had run it over when he left it on the ground. And he’d only left it on the ground because a pig had escaped and he ran off to catch it. I didn’t eat pork anymore. I figured it was bad luck.

Sarcasm turned to sympathy. “I’m so sorry you went through that,” Ari said.

“Me too. What’s the budget for tips?”

“Jerry didn’t give an actual?—”

The car guys at the next table were staring at a phone now. “Hey, man,” the douche with the moustache said. “Aruba, huh? How’s the weather? Hot?”

“Of course it’s hot,” Ari muttered. “It’s freaking Aruba.”

“Hold on a sec, I can’t hear you.” Moustache Guy turned up the volume. “Okay, say that again.”

A third idiot joined the conversation. “Yeah, hot outside, but hotter inside. I brought Leonie.”

“Leonie?” Moustache Guy asked, and Phone Dude turned his camera toward a woman sleeping on a sun lounger. “Hey, I know her. She was married to my cousin.”

There was a blessedly long moment of silence before Phone Dude said, “Huh?”

Non-Moustache Guy looked puzzled. “ThatLeonie? Didn’t they get divorced after a month?”

“They split after a month. The divorce came later.”

“What did she do?” Phone Dude asked.

Ari clenched her fists. “Maybe she didn’t do anything? Maybe she had a lucky escape?”

The three men glared at her. Yup, even the one on the phone because Moustache Guy had propped it against the napkin dispenser and the douche was in full view.

“This is a private conversation,” Moustache Guy snapped.

“No, it really isn’t. You’re in a public place, and you’re speaking loud enough for everyone on the Strip to hear.”

“Nosy bitch.”

A girl on the other side of the bar stood up. “Man, you didnotjust say that. Someone should tell Leonie to run.”

A pretty brunette turned around. “You want his Instagram handle? He was practically yelling it in the restaurant downstairs yesterday.”

The tall blonde at the table behind them grinned. “Sure, give it to me. We should find Leonie and warn her.”

The two men slunk out as all the women in the bar gathered around, phones in hand, chattering about assholes and the importance of sisterhood.

“What happened to keeping a low profile?” I whispered to Ari.

“I can still see the door, and someone needs to save Leonie from making another mistake.”

We didn’t even need Alexa this time. Becky—the blonde—tracked down Leonie in under five minutes and fired off a message. Then the bartender introduced herself as Janine, put a finger to her lips, and comped us drinks while we high-fived all around.

Yeehaw.

Hey, maybe this time in Vegas would be fun after all?

---