Page 73 of Heart Sick

I step forward, about ready to beathisface, but Luna grips my forearm discreetly, stopping me. “Silly me,” she gushes, laying on the charm. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and slipped.”

She lets me go and holds up her bandaged wrist with a damsel in distress look, which is my cue to leave. She can take care of herself.

Basket in hand, I quickly make my way up and down the aisles, grabbing things I need. I turn the corner and bump straight into a young woman. The box of produce she carries tumbles to the floor, sending lemons in all directions.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, dropping to a squat to stop the lemons from rolling into the next aisles.

She laughs and doesn’t seem to mind as she joins me in retrieving the runaway lemons. Her name tag reads Felicity, and when Felicity’s fingers not so innocently brush over mine, it seems my plan to play it discreet just got shot to hell.

“I love your tattoos,” she says, smiling.

“Thanks.” I try and hurry this conversation up by quickly capturing as many lemons as I can, but Felicity seems content on talking.

“Did it hurt?” she asks, reaching out to touch over the sheet music down my neck.

“I don’t know,” I reply honestly, subtly recoiling from her touch. “I didn’t really think about it.”

“Were you high? I heard that’s the best way to avoid the pain.”

Honestly, being lost to the music which was being permanently inked into my skin was better than any drug because it was my drug of choice, and being without, I’m withdrawing badly.

“There you are, honey.”

Peering up, I see Luna, and when I read the look on her face, I know it’s time to split.

With a nod, I quickly stand and slip my hand through Luna’s. Felicity doesn’t hide her disappointment. We’re about to leave, but Luna reaches down to capture a stowaway lemon. She tosses it at Felicity, who fumbles but catches it.

“You know what they say?”

Felicity narrows her eyes, waiting for Luna’s punchline.

“When life gives you lemons…make lemonade.”

I’m left speechless at Luna’s blatant taunt as she leads the way toward the front door. A group of teenagers in front of us are laughing and being obnoxious to an elderly couple. I’m about to show them what obnoxious looks like, but Luna shakes her head.

She reaches for a small bottle of whiskey off the shelf and slips it into the pocket of one of the boys. When we pass the guard at the door, she discreetly says, “I think you may want to check that boy’s back pocket. He’s trying to steal from your store. But I know you won’t let that happen because you’re one big strong man.”

Her comment is dripping with sarcasm, but the moron doesn’t get it.

He adjusts his belt and saunters over to the troublesome teens, oblivious to the real thief who is Luna as she retrieves the stolen basket she clearly left by the door and yanks me outside. I don’t have time to question her as we walk briskly toward our car.

The moment I take off, Luna giggles as she rifles through the goods she stole, goods that include a wallet. She opens it up and counts the stolen cash. “It’s enough to get us a place to stay for a few nights,” she says while I wonder who the hell this woman is.

She opens a bag of Lay’s and offers me some. But I shake my head because my appetite is shot.

She shrugs and chews happily.

The silence continues and honestly, I don’t know what to do next. We can’t just drive around aimlessly. We need a plan. But I don’t know what.

We drive through a deserted area and when a rundown motel comes into view with a strip club called The Big Top next door, Luna leans forward, her eyes alight. This is the devil’s playground.

“Stop. Let’s stay here.”

There is a police car parked around the back, which means this place is where off-duty cops come to blow off some steam.

“I don’t think so,” I say, gesturing with my chin toward the patrol cars.

“I have an idea.”

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