N9ne: The Tale of Kevin Clearwater (King, #9)(52)

I grin. “None of them. They all do it. I was just seeing if you were paying attention.”

“Touché, my bro. Continue.”

“I know what strip clubs to find the bikers in. I know which roads to take to avoid the cops. The point is that all of the places I know aren’t places to take a girl. They aren’t date places.”

Preppy raises an eyebrow. “They aren’t? ‘Cause I’m not gonna lie. They all sound like a pretty fuckin’ good time.”

I harden my gaze.

“Okay. Okay. But you’re missing the big picture here. It’s not what bar has cleaner bathrooms or about taking her to a billion-course dinner. If we’re talking about Lenny here, then she had all that, and did it make her happy?”

I sigh and shake my head because happy is something that Lenny is not, and from the way she talks about her anxiety, it started way before Jared, uh, disappeared.

“Okay, so if you really want to impress this girl, don’t just take her somewhere you think she’ll like. SHARE something with her. Something that has to do with you. Something you dig.”

I’m waiting for the usual punchline, but it never comes. As his words sink in, an idea comes to mind. “Thanks, Prep.”

I turn around to leave. I’ve got one foot onto the path leading to my RV when Preppy calls out to me, “You know, if the date thingy doesn’t work out, text me her height and weight, and I’ll meet you at the boat!”

I turn around to flip him a middle finger. I expect him to be laughing, but his face his completely serious.

“Tell me something, brother. Are you all shook up over this girl because she’s the girl from the bridge? Or because she’s from the rich side of town? Or because Ricci’s men are after her? Or because you killed her boyfriend? Or because you want to hit it like—”

“Yes.”

“Eh, it could be worse.”

“It could be worse?” I throw my hands in the air. “How the fuck could it be any worse?”

Bo appears from within the office holding a large Ziploc bag with something white in it.

I point to the bag and try to get Preppy’s attention. “Uh, Preppy? Is that…”

Preppy spins around and snatches the bag from Bo’s hand. “Bo, where did you get this?”

“From the safe, behind your desk. Under the floorboards. I heard you talking to Uncle Nine about your good coke, so I broke into it and got it for you.” Bo smiles proudly.

Preppy crouches down so he’s eye to eye with his son. “What did I tell you about things like this?”

His little smile flattens. “No hard drugs until I’m old enough to make my own bad decisions. But I didn’t try it. It would stunt my growth. I was just trying to help, Daddy. I swear.”

Preppy stands. “Go inside, and wait for me. We’ve got to have a little talk.”

“Another one?” Bo whines.

“Yeah, buddy, another one.”

Bo goes inside the office, and Preppy blows out a long breath. He looks torn.

“You gonna be okay, Prep?” I ask.

He runs his hands through his hair. “Yeah, I am. I uhh…I’m just a little mixed up right now.”

I wait for him to elaborate.

“Like, on one hand, I’m pissed because my kid broke into my safe and brought me a bag of my good coke, but on the other hand…” His eyes gloss over, but he doesn’t look upset. He looks…proud? “He knows what good coke is.”

I leave Preppy to have a chat with his son and head back to the RV. I think about the list of reasons Preppy gave me as to why I’m so pissed off and annoyed at the situation with Lenny, and they don’t seem right. They don’t seem right because they aren’t right. I already know the real reason why I’m so bothered, but I can’t admit it yet, even to myself.

Because you can’t lose her again.



* * *



When I step inside my RV, I find Lenny sitting on the kitchen counter still in my t-shirt with the bottle of vodka between her legs. I can see her navy-blue panties behind the clear glass and do my best to seem indifferent although my cock jumps at the sight, remembering how she tasted on my tongue, how she came undone screaming my name.

“I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity,” she says, softly, adding, “Edgar Allan Poe.” As if I don’t know where the quote came from. As if I haven’t read or reread everything the man ever wrote after the night on the bridge.

“So, what’s the plan, Stan?” she asks, her voice raspy and sad.

“Plan?”

“Yes. The plan. What are you waiting for? What am I waiting for?” She rests both hands on the neck of the bottle. “Are you waiting to find Jared or waiting to figure out if I’m a liar before you let me go? And if I am a liar, are you just going to off me and dump me in the swamp like the severed head?” She hiccups, and I notice a slight slur in her speech. “Or, are you just waiting for Ricci’s men to magically lose interest in me? Or are you planning on keeping me here forever and evers?” Hiccup. “I’m a bird in a cage. Again.” She takes another gulp of vodka and rests it on her thigh, leaning the neck of the bottle toward me as she talks. “I’ve been that bird before. Been there. Done that. And you know what? It was totally my fault. I trapped myself. Me, me, me, and only me. But, I can for sure tell you, I didn’t like it all that much.” She scrunches her nose. “Nope, didn’t like it at alls.”