Page 61 of Hot Mess Express
“You picked the placeandtime.”
“Thought Juni would give me a ride.”
“I could’ve picked you up.”
“No way.” He eyes me. “I don’t get into cars with strangers.”
I smirk. I’m back to forgiving him again. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. Almost all the movies started already.”
He huffs at me. “Did I walk all this way just to get berated by you? Like a child? Are you gonna take me over a knee, too?”
“Do you want me to?” I ask with a pinch of attitude.
His eyes go big as he chokes on his next breath of air.
Either I just seriously surprised him, offended him, or excited him with that question. I kinda love that I can’t decipher between those expressions on his face yet.
I nod at the theater. “This is what you like to do? Catch late-night flicks? Got something in mind?”
He still seems stuck on the spanking joke, unable to respond for a second.Wasit a joke? Should I have said it more jokingly? Pete always says I’m terrible with humor. Every joke I attempt comes out too dryly, and people sometimes take me seriously, the humor flying over their heads.
My delivery is always like that. Bone-dry. As serious as rabies.
“Yeah,” Anthony finally says. “Used to work here. Years ago.”
“You scoop popcorn into buckets? Or off the floor?”
“Both. All of it. Doesn’t matter. We goin’ in or not?”
Before I even answer, he’s heading off for the doors. I smirk privately to myself, then follow.
The joke’s on him, apparently. The only movie left that hasn’t started is a 9:20 showing ofCarnivore Carnival.
Apparently he hates horror movies.
“Hey, don’t skimp on the butter,” grunts Anthony as westand at the concession counter. “Who trained you? Sheesh, the stuff is practically free, the margins are big, load ‘er up. Is Vince around? He should’ve trained you how to layer the butter.”
The young woman serving us doesn’t look that pleased to see Anthony. She sets the popcorn on the counter. “Mr. Lemon know you’re here?”
Anthony snorts. “Who cares? He adores me deep down. I was his best concession guy.”
“Until you weren’t.”
It suddenly occurs to me that Anthony can’t stand still, and he has that glassy look in his eyes. Should I ask? No, I shouldn’t.
Actually, I will. “Did you take a couple shots before coming?”
He ignores me, leaning over the counter. “Hey, do we still got that two-for-one deal here?”
“We have a no-for-one deal,” she deadpans. “You getno-thing extra for anyone-thing.”
He squints back. “That a joke?”
“Your total is $30.”
Right as Anthony is about to explode at the price of two large popcorns and two sodas, I step in front of him and offer my card. She takes it and rings it up as Anthony looks at me in protest. “You got the tickets already. I was gonna get the—”
“It was my idea to hang out tonight, Anthony. I’ll pay.”
