Page 24 of Skating and Fake Dating
His smile wavers. My expression morphs into a scowl. Bailey grins as if this is all part of the act and she’s expecting the handcuffs to vanish like the coin from the box.
I know better … or at least, my stomach thinks it does.
The magician tries one more time, but we remain locked together.
“Ah, yes. I must’ve, um, we’ll just take a moment in my stall to—” Turning his back on the crowd, he ushers us inside and then closes the black curtain at our backs.
“Get these off, now,” I say, forgoing my manners and the wordsir.
Bailey adds, “Please.”
Sweat dots his forehead. “I don’t know what went wrong. Yes, of course. Let me just find the key. It’s here—” He rifles through a little drawer in a wooden chest.
I glance at Bailey and her shoulders droop slightly. She mouths,I’m sorry.
No, it’s this clown show of a magician who should be sorry.
“Ah ha!” He says, pinching a small key between his fingers.
“Hurry up. We have a wedding to go to.” I belatedly realize I included myself when in reality I’m dropping Bailey off and then going, well, I’m not sure where. She must, though, having arranged my moving plans.
The magician slides the key into the lock, but again, nothing happens. Wrenching it from his fingers, I say, “Let me try.”
It doesn’t slide in easily, nor does it turn. I spot another pair of handcuffs on a nearby table and say, “Are those the trick cuffs?”
The magician’s face falls.
“And that would make these the real ones?” Bailey asks.
Taking charge, I speak simply, but forcefully. “Okay, so get the key, unlock these things, and we’ll get out of here.”
He slowly shakes his head. “The key is at home.”
“Then go get it or a hacksaw.”
Bailey jerks her hand toward her chest, taking mine with it. “You can’t amputate!”
“For the cuffs, Bailey.”
“Oh, right.”
“Home is five hours away. I only come to the flea market on weekends.”
“This gives new meaning to homeward bound,” Bailey mutters.
And this is the last detour I ever want to take.
CHAPTER 11
CARSON
Nostrils flaring, I try to steady my breath. “Can you pick the lock?”
Biting her lip, Bailey says, “If these are real handcuffs, they’re not easily pickable.”
“You know this, how? Oh, right, your crime of passion.”
“What are we going to do?” She stares at the ceiling and then says, “My uncle Frank is a police officer. He’ll be at the wedding. He can unlock the cuffs. Problem solved.” She tries to dust her hands off, but yanks my arm with her.
