Page 26 of Full Tilt
“Yes,” I said, “you are goddamn nosy.”
She squawked and chucked a French fry at me. I laughed and plucked it off my lap.
“Wait, shit! You can’t have that!” Kacey reached across the table to snatch it back. “I did not just almost scald myself over your damn coffee so you could eat a fryinstead.”
“Your sacrifice is duly noted.” I crammed the whole thing in my mouth, and nearly groaned in ecstasy. I’d forgotten how good a fried potato could be. Salty, greasy perfection. “Holy God, that tastes good.”
Kacey moved her plate out of my reach. “That’s all you get, buddy. I’m not going to be responsible for breaking your diet. I’ve already broken the routine you keep talking about, right? I’m a bad influence on you…”
My laughter died and my smile froze. She was right. In the space of one lunch, Kacey had not only broken my diet, but she’d put a dent in my carefully crafted routine. It wasn’t just taking up my time that could’ve been spent in the hot shop. It wasthis.Lunch. Easy laughter and sharing. Trusting one another with secrets. Fingers curled softly together…
This was a forbidden item on the menu.
This was bad for my heart.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin and set it on the table.
“Yeah, speaking of my schedule,” I said. “I only have a few hours before I start my shift at A-1, and you have a show tonight. We should get you back to Summerlin.”
Kacey’s smile faded away and her chin tilted at my obvious change in demeanor. “Oh. Sure.” Her luminous light dimmed. “Ready whenever you are.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Idrove us back to my apartment so Kacey could retrieve her bustier and the remnants of her fishnet stockings. But when I pulled into the parking lot, she didn’t get out of the truck, only sat there, unmoving.
“Throw the stupid bustier away,” she said finally.
“You sure?”
“Let’s just keep going,” she said, but it sounded more like,Let’s get it over with.
I drove Kacey back to the Summerlin house in silence. I stopped the truck in the great circular driveway. Kacey climbed out of the truck and stood facing the house.
“I fucking hate Las Vegas,” she muttered so low I almost didn’t hear her. She turned to me, leaned into the passenger window. “Thanks for taking care of me last night.”
“No problem,” I said.Say something else. Say somethingbetter.But the words stuck in my throat.
“And thanks for paying for lunch. It was supposed to be my treat, but I had no money on me. Naturally.” She shook her head. “If you wait a sec, I’ll run up and get some cash.”
“Forget it,” I said. “I ate a French fry for the first time in a year. It was worth twenty bucks.”
She raised her eyes to mine. “Thanks for that, too.”
“What? Eating a fry?”
“For cheering me up. Every time I feel a little down, you make a joke to lift me up.”
I nodded like a mute idiot, not sure what would fall out of my mouth, a joke or the truth: making her laugh was like hitting a mini jackpot.
She shuffled her feet. “Okay, well. I should get back.”
“Break a leg tonight,” I finally managed.
“I’ll be lucky if that’s all I break,” she said, with a weak laugh. She started to close the door then stopped. “Thanks for being a good guy, Jonah. There’s a shortage in the world.”
She shut the door and walked away, her pale hair glinting like spun glass in the sun. I watched her walk to the entrance—to make sure she got in okay, I told myself—waiting until she entered the dark confines of the house. It swallowed her up and the door shut behind her.
