Page 58 of Russian Roulette
“Only a little,” I respond, covering my glass with my hand. “Not a full glass. I wouldn’t want to become light-headed. There’s no telling what I might do if I’m tipsy.”
“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” he replies, evidently pleased with my answer.
My cheeks flush with warmth when I realize he assumes I’m being flirtatious, while my actual concerns are about getting sick or tripping. As he leans in to top off my glass, a strand of his sandy-blonde hair falls across his forehead. The temptation to reach up and smooth it back into place is almost overwhelming.
The traffic is at a standstill, but he keeps the conversation moving with his wit and charm. To my surprise, he’s both genuinely entertaining and hilariously funny as he tells me stories of the crazy things that have happened during his performances.
Before I realize it, I’m relaxing and genuinely enjoying myself. He’s working hard to make me comfortable while the limousine crawls at a sloth’s pace along the street.
When my crystal flute is half-empty, Seven turns to me. “Are you ready for me to top off your glass one last time? I swear I’m not trying to get you wasted. Especially after what happened last night. Vegas traffic is a bitch and we’ve been stuck in this same spot for twenty minutes. Might as well make good use of the time.” He leans over to pick up the bottle of champagne out of the bucket, the chilled condensation beading on the bottle’s surface.
Suddenly the limo swerves wildly, making a sharp left turn off the street. The tires hit a pothole with a jolt, causing us to almost slide off the slippery leather seats.
“Dammit!” Seven mutters under his breath. “What the hell!”
He grabs onto me with one hand and holds me tight, so I don’t end up on the floor of the limo while he steadies the champagne bucket with the other. The car swerves again, but Seven’s grip on my arm is an anchor, keeping me grounded in the chaos.
“Leroy!” Seven calls out. “What the fuck are you doing up there? What’s going on?”
Leroy doesn’t respond. Instead, a few seconds later, the limousine slows to a stop. The jarring sound of a fast-food restaurant speaker crackles near the driver’s window. “Welcome to Burger Crown,” the woman says through the speaker. “May I take your order, please?”
“Hmmm…,” Leroy says. “What’s your special today?”
“Number nine. A triple-decker Barnhouse Busterburger with fries and a large soft drink.”
“Give me a second to read the menu,” Leroy yells out the driver’s window. “Okay, I’m ready to order. I’ll have some large fries, a Barnyard Buster, some zesty nuggets, two sloppers, one with cheese, one without, and a large orange drink.”
“Will that be it?” she asks.
Leroy doesn’t stop. “Y’all got any onion rings? Because I’ve got a craving for onion rings.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Add two orders of onion rings to go with it.”
“Is that all?”
“No, add a chocolate shake to that, too. That’ll do it.”
I peek over at Seven and bite my lip to keep from laughing. The shocked expression on his face is priceless. He’s not happy with Leroy for taking an unplanned detour through a drive-thru on our way to a fancy, expensive pop-up restaurant.
Seven sits there fuming for a split-second before jumping up and punching the button to open the glass window separating us from the front seat. The button isn’t working. He jabs it furiously several more times.
“Damn!” He raps three times hard on the glass. “Leroy!” he yells. “Open the window.” As soon as the glass slowly slides open with a squeak, he sticks his face through the opening.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he whispers. “Why in the living hell are we sitting in a damn drive-thru of Burger Crown when you’re supposed to be driving us to a sushi bar?”
“I’m hungry,” Leroy answers in a matter-of-fact voice. “I need a bite to eat. Diabetes runs in my family. The doctor said I should keep food in my bloodstream. And I’ve already told you I don’t eat raw fish. I’m not eating that shit.”
“Couldn’t you have dropped us off at the restaurant first and then gone to get yourself something to eat?” Seven asks. “And why does it matter if you don’t want sushi? You’re not the one with dinner reservations!”
“What are you saying?” Leroy asks in a shocked voice. “I always go with you. What the fuck is a bodyguard for if not to guard you? Women these days are crazy. You need protection, Seven. I can’t leave you alone by yourself.”
“I’m not alone, I’m with Jade,” Seven replies. “Privacy might be nice for a change. I never get a chance to be alone with her. Not even for five minutes. I can take care of myself for one night.”
“Privacy?” Leroy’s deep, booming voice echoes in the limo. “Well, fuck a duck. Since when do you care about privacy? The three of you guys are usually attached at the hip. You need to tell me important shit if you want privacy. Give me a warning first, or we can work out a special code word. I’m not a mind reader or I’d have my own show. Don’t get all huffy at me if I can’t read your mind.”
“I thought it was obvious,” Seven mutters. “Do I have to spell everything out? We might sit in this drive-thru line for half an hour waiting on your order.”
