Chase Me (Broke and Beautiful #1)(52)

“You cook something in that truck. It is not falafel, brother.”

“They’re brothers?” Louis whispered in Roxy’s ear.

She nodded, nuzzling her cheek against his mouth. “They used to work the same truck, but they had a fight. Both of them refuse to give up the block.”

“How do you know this?”

“The starving actress newsletter.”

He half-smiled at the joke even though he didn’t find the idea of her hungry funny. At all. It made him feel impatient . . . twitchy. While his mind headed down that path, it occurred to him that she’d just blown his mind and was now in charge of getting them fed. It kind of killed him a little, knowing he hadn’t returned the favor—yet—or was allowed to buy her a decent meal. If he didn’t think she’d dig in her heels, he’d give her the choice of any restaurant in town. He’d sit there, watch her eat, and feel like he’d . . . earned her. Christ. Apparently he wasn’t as enlightened as he’d thought, something he’d only realized since meeting Roxy and being blindsided by the urge to take care of her. She could take care of herself, he knew that. It didn’t stop him from wanting the job.

Roxy’s voice lured him back to the present. “There’s only one way to settle this, gentlemen. One falafel from each truck.” She pursed her lips. “Whose should we try first?”

“Mine.”

“Right this way.”

Roxy bit her lip, splitting a conflicted look between the two men. “I-I can’t decide. If I eat the bad one first, it might ruin falafel for me forever.”

“Here!” The man to their left tossed a Styrofoam container onto the metal perch beneath his window. “I’m so sure you’ll pick mine as the best, I give it for free.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” The other man briefly disappeared into his truck. “Mine is free, too.”

“Bingo,” Roxy said out of the side of her mouth before swaggering toward the first truck. “Well . . . if you insist . . .”

They sat on the curb, a few yards away from the rowdy college students, and ate falafel. Since the truck owners were watching them anxiously from their windows, they switched once in a while and pretended to be in a deep discussion concerning the merits of each meal.

“And you claim to have no acting ability.” She eyed him suspiciously. “You were a regular Leonardo DiCaprio out there.”

“I might have picked up a few things in law school.”

“How to put on a show for the jury? That kind of thing?”

Louis popped a falafel into his mouth and nodded. Here they were, talking about him again. It was like she had some kind of mental block when it came to talking about herself. “What about you? Who taught you how to act?”

She stabbed at her food with the fork but didn’t eat it. “Uh . . . no one, I guess. Just me.” Louis waited, hoping she would say more. “There was a drama teacher in high school that gave me a chance, but there were so many other students. He couldn’t really guide me.”

“What about acting classes?”

He laid a hand on her knee when it started bouncing, earning him a cautious look. “I took a couple when I moved to Manhattan. Before that, no. My parents . . . they don’t think wanting to be an actress is practical. Or realistic.” She laughed a little. “They’re probably right.”

This is where he should stop asking questions. The witness had given up as much information as he would get. But he wanted to know more. “What did they want you to do instead?”

She didn’t talk for a while, abandoning her container of food on the sidewalk next to her. When she finally spoke, he realized he’d been holding his breath. “They didn’t care. They don’t care, Louis.” Their gazes met. “The only reason they said acting is impractical was so they wouldn’t have to dip into their beer money for my acting classes. I haven’t talked to them since Christmas. They genuinely don’t give a shit.”

“I don’t believe that. How could anyone not give a shit about you?”

“I was an accident.” She looked shocked to have said the words out loud. Words that carved right into his gut. “My father got my mother pregnant at their high school prom. I think being the product of a cliché is what hurts the most.” Her laughter was forced. He could tell she was trying to disguise the hurt, but he didn’t want her to. Even if he hated seeing it, he wanted this piece of her. “They went to IHOP afterwards. I wish I didn’t know that, but I do. They had unprotected hotel room sex and went to a f*cking IHOP in Newark. I overheard that while they were fighting one night.”

He’d been expecting something bad because of the ten-foot-high wall she usually had up to protect her, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. Her parents not caring or encouraging her to pursue her goals made him angry on her behalf. She was dynamic, smart, and talented. She deserved better than that. His family might be bat shit crazy, but they supported one another. In their own annoying, often long-distance way.

He started to tell her he was sorry. That he wished her parents appreciated her, saw her for the amazing girl she was, but she shook her head at him. “Talk to me about something else for a while, okay?”

She seemed uncomfortable with what she’d revealed, so he took the focus off her. For now. “My firm doesn’t want me to do any more pro bono work.” As soon as he said the words, he realized he’d been wanting all along to talk to her about it. “Cases like the youth center . . . they think it’s a waste of their resources. Also known as me.”