Page 62 of Beautiful Rush
Deacon
“Open up,” Keira said, holding a lychee she’d peeled for me in front of my mouth. I opened my mouth and she fed it to me. The girl loved feeding me. Earlier, we had eaten Dim Sum and drank Oolong tea at a tea parlor circa 1920s. She’d fed me roast pork buns and shrimp Siu mai across the Formica table and ordered almond cookies for dessert. After dinner, we wandered around a Chinese grocery store and she bought bagsful of lychee and dragon fruit.
Now we were roaming the alleys and side streets of Chinatown, eating lychee in the drizzling rain. I tossed our collection of fruit pits, mine and hers that she’d spit into my hand, in the garbage can as we passed it and wiped my sticky hand on my jeans.
“Are you coming over tonight?” she asked.
I shook my head. She sighed loudly, not bothering to hide her displeasure.
In the week since we’d been back from the Catskills, I hadn’t been to her apartment once. I didn’t trust Sergei and I didn’t want any of Dmitri’s crew to find out where Keira lived. Chances were, I was being overly cautious. But she should feel safe in her own apartment. After a lifetime of being tailed and having stalkers,Jesus Christ, the last thing she needed was to constantly be looking over her shoulder.
If anything happened to her because of my job, I’d never forgive myself. Before we left the Catskills, I gave her money to get an additional lock installed on her door. She didn’t want the money or the lock. But she did it. For me. And she took a photo to prove it. She also took a taxi to meet me tonight, although she claimed that the subway had felt safer than being in the back seat of the taxi.
“He was a crazy driver.”
Thatmade me laugh.
Pell street was a riot of color and Keira snapped photos of red Chinese lanterns hanging in front of a restaurant and a pink neon-lit barber shop. We stopped at the corner to cross the street and she leaned in close, snapping a selfie that captured both of us. “I won’t show anyone until our undercover affair is over,” she assured me. “I just want a picture of you in my phone. Since I can’t have you in my bed.”
There was nothing I wanted more than to be in her bed, but it was safer for her if I stayed away. I draped an arm around her shoulders and guided her across the street. In the past week, I’d given a lot of thought to the story she’d told me, about how she was raised and what her life in Miami had been like. It explained a lot about Keira. It helped me understand her better. And in turn, I had poured out my whole story, entrusting her with information that could potentially jeopardize my whole assignment.
Love was a crazy thing. It wasn’t logical. It didn’t play fair. And once you were in it, there was no such thing as playing it safe.
As I was thinking this, Keira’s phone buzzed and she slid it out of her pocket, checking the message. A big smile lit up her face. We ducked under an awning and stopped walking. Keira held her phone between us so I could see the messages and photos from Ava and Connor.
Ava: We got hitched!!!!
Connor: At the Elvis Chapel in Vegas
Ava: It was epic
Keira scrolled through photos of Ava and Connor’s left hands, infinity symbols tattooed on their ring fingers. Another photo showed them sitting on the hood of their Mustang convertible with the Nevada desert in the background. I chuckled at the messages in the group chat.
Eden: I’m never speaking to you again. You cheated us out of a wedding?!
Eden: Oh, and CONGRATULATIONS!!!!
Keira: Love you both. Did you get a live Elvis performance?
Connor: “The Wonder of You”/Because that’s Ava Blue/And we love you too
Ava: You sound like Dr. Seuss
Connor: Or a lame rapper
Killian: Thanks for asking me to be best man
Connor: You’re the best man I know
Ava: Okay, we’re on our honeymoon. Catch you later…
Keira pocketed her phone and smiled at me, rocking back on her heels. “My brothers found true love.”
“And what about their sister?”
“What about her?” She winked at me, avoiding the question. “She’s pretty special.”
“I can vouch for that,babe.” I hooked my fingers in the belt loops of her ripped black jeans and pulled her closer. She was wearing a black crop top that said Babe under a red and black plaid button-down shirt, exposing a strip of her tanned stomach. She looped her arms around my neck, the plastic bag of dragon fruit still clutched in one hand, and we kissed on a street corner in Chinatown that reeked of fish heads and rotting garbage. Her lips were soft and warm, and her skin was smooth and silky. She tasted sweet, like lychee, and smelled like ripe apricots so I didn’t notice the stench on the street.
