Page 21 of Lovetown, USA
Oh shit.
“Bingo!” I yell, shooting to my feet as wild applause breaks out.
I sit back down and finish my martini, signaling for a third as a volunteer comes over to pick up my card. I avoid another glance at Dr. Trey, feeling his eyes on me. I’m a little embarrassed I got so into the game, but fuck it. I’m not a woman who bends her will to other peoples’ expectations. I do what I want. Who cares what that man thinks?
I do, apparently.
Ten minutes later, I win again. Card four is won by the same gentleman who won card one. Strange, and lowkey feels like a setup, but I’m too buzzed to work out the logistics of that. Miss Milly calls us to the stage, and I saunter up there, fully aware that all eyes are on me. Where they belong.
“As is the grand tradition,” Miss Milly says, “here are your prizes.”
She hands over two gigantic plastic diamond rings. They’re comically big, but in the spirit of the game, I smile.
“Time to seal the deal!”
The crowd goes wild, and it’s the corniest thing ever. But when I lock eyes with Dr. Trey, he’s not cheering at all. In fact, he looks irritated.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?”
Startled, I turn my attention back to Miss Milly. “Lane.”
“Lane, this is Deacon. It’s tradition that the winners place the rings on each other’s fingers.”
Deacon is a tall drink of chocolate milk with a perfect white smile. He slides the ring on my finger with ease, then I return the favor, letting my hand linger on his for a second too long. Just a little something for the plot.
He smirks like he’s enjoying the story I’m writing.
“And here is your certificate.” She hands Deacon an envelope. “This can only be used by the two of you together. Any restaurant within the city limits. Enjoy!”
Well, fuck. I gotta go out with this negro?
I swallow my irritation, because there are worse things in the world than a free dinner with a handsome man. I pull out my card and slide it to Deacon.
“Call me,” I say.
“Oh, I will.”
Yeah, he’s cute. Face, sittable. But my mind is already elsewhere. On my exposé, to be exact. I don’t care how much I drink; if there’s work to be done, I’m doing it.
I tap Miss Milly on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
“What would have happened if two women won the prize? Or two men?”
She frowns. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Would they still have gotten the certificate for dinner?”
“Of course!” she says. “Why wouldn’t they?”
I’m searching for the words when she grabs my hand. “Are you uncomfortable, dear?” She lowers her voice to a near whisper. “We have a queer bingo night if that’s more your speed.”
“Oh, I’m straight,” I say with a laugh. “I’m just interested in the logistics, that’s all.”
Her face is still a little pinched. “You have women friends, right? And you go to dinner, I’m assuming. The dinner is for two people to enjoy each others’ company.” She squeezes my hand. “There’s more than one kind of love. sweetheart.”
Well, that’s nice. And unexpected. I’m at a loss, which usually happens to me when I’m proven wrong.
