N9ne: The Tale of Kevin Clearwater (King, #9)(61)

“No, they’re not,” I argue, taking a bite of my second ice cream of the night. This time chocolate with raspberry blood topping. “That one stretches your head, that one makes you look like a pencil, and this one makes everything short and wide.” I look up to him. “Do you need glasses? You can borrow mine but they’re back at the RV.”

Nine stands behind me and places his chin on my shoulder looking at our distorted reflection in the wonky mirrors. “I don’t need glasses. They’re the same because in every single one…you’re still you. Sexy as fuck, irreverent, quirky, you.”

My heart melts as the ice cream from my second cone of the day drips down my hand. I search around for a garbage can. Nine takes what’s left of my cone and walks it to a nearby booth to dispose of it. He comes back with a handful of napkins.

A group of teenage girls blatantly stare at him and giggle as he passes. “Here, let me,” he says, taking my wrist he lifts up my arm, and I think he’s going to wipe the melted ice cream from my hand when he brings it to his mouth and licks the drip from my thumb to my wrist. “Hmmmm…delicious.”

I want to say something. Anything. But I can’t because I’m pressing my knees together to keep from combusting right here and now. “Uh…thank you.”

“Anytime.” His words laced with wicked promise.

“Come on, I’ve got one more thing I want to show you.” Nine leads me to the back of the fairgrounds, past a running, screaming herd of mini-zombies that almost knock me over. Nine reaches out and grabs me before I faceplant, then pulls me close and wraps his arms around me to protect me from a second herd that screams by in a blur of blood and cotton candy.

His eyes search mine. He lifts my chin, and slowly he lowers his head. “Fuck, you make me…” He doesn’t finish because our lips brush together, but it only lasts for a fraction of a second because we’re yanked apart by a high-pitch voice that breaks through the moment like a familiar shrill battering ram.

“Lenny? Oh my god it is you, Lenny!” the voice exclaims.

Nine releases my chin, and we both turn to face Lori and her husband Penn. Lori is dressed like the typical Stepford wife she is in a fifties-style white sundress and matching flats. Her bleached blonde hair in an elaborate up-do highlighting her long neck and the double string of pearls around it.

Penn is wearing a yellow polo shirt complete with a pink sweater tied around his neck, long white cargo shorts, and brown leather boat shoes with anchors embedded on the tops. I cringe. Not just because it’s a terrible look for a man, one that ages him at least ten years, but it’s also how Jared dressed. It took me until this very moment to realize how nauseating I found the look.

“Lori, Penn, it’s nice to see you both again,” I lie through my teeth. Literally, my teeth gnash together, and I’m trying not to grind them out of my skull.

Their nanny, Ined, walks behind them quietly with their two clean and similarly-dressed, miserable-looking toddlers in tow in an expensive double stroller. The nanny walks several feet away and stops, probably having been instructed to neither be seen nor heard when Lori and Penn are talking to anyone who isn’t her or the children.

“Hello, Ined,” I call out, just to get a rise out of Lori.

Ined is about to smile, then reconsiders, dropping her eyes back to the children.

“Don’t bother the help, Lenny. Can’t you see? Ined is working.”

“Oh, how silly of me,” I say sarcastically with my hand to my chest. “Greeting the help? What was I thinking?”

Nine steps to the beverage stand beside us and orders two beers.

Lori’s smile is as fake as mine, and I don’t miss the elbow to the ribs she gives Penn who forces his own even faker smile. Only his isn’t as practiced as Lori’s, and the result is a look that tells me he might be about to pass gas.

He’s also staring at Nine like he recognizes him but I can’t for the life of me think of how the two would know each other.

“Lenny, it’s so good to see you,” Lori sings, giving me a fake air kiss on each side of my cheek. I don’t reciprocate and stand still until her little show is over.

She stands back and points to my backward ball cap and off the shoulder blouse. “That’s…a new look for you,” she says. Her attention turns to Nine who comes up beside me and hands me a beer. “And so is this.” She points to Nine with her skinny French manicured finger.

“He’s not a this,” I snap. “This, is Nine. Nine, this is Lori and Penn. I met Lori through Jared. Penn is his best friend.”

“Was,” Penn corrects. “I haven’t heard from Jared, and frankly, with all the chatter around town about the mess he’s made of everyone’s investment accounts, I don’t want to,” he says. “It reflects poorly on me that I was ever his friend to begin with, and I won’t have that man or anyone associated with him staining my family’s good name.”

“So, that’s the real reason you didn’t want me to stay with you,” I say, not able to hold back any longer. “Because you didn’t want people to talk about you? Because of your reputation?”

Nine remains silent, as if he’s standing guard between me and their ability to hurt me more than they already have.

Lori’s face twists in ‘holier than thou’ look, but I don’t miss the spark of lust in her eyes as she rakes Nine over while ignoring my accusation. Or, as I like to think of it, my reality check.