Dair (The Wild Side #3)(21)

It was scary how good she was at this sort of thing, how familiar.

I drove my black Prius to Boulder Station, one of the local haunts, way across town, on Boulder Highway.  I parked it in the vast parking lot, walked through the casino, and exited the building at the taxi station.

I took a cab to Sam’s Town, another local haunt, and repeated the process, this time telling the new cabby to take me to the Bellagio, a casino on the strip.

From Bellagio, I took a taxi to Aria, another strip casino.  From Aria, I rode to the Stratosphere.

At this one, a hoodie and dark shades wearing Iris met me at the taxi station, and slipped into the car with me, this time giving the cab driver a home address.

She sent me a sidelong smile as the taxi started to move.

“How can you be absolutely sure I lost the tail?” I asked her, glancing behind us.

“Can’t be, that’s why we’ll do one more check.”

About halfway to our destination, Iris had the driver pull over on the side of a quiet street and wait for ten minutes, meter running.

Nothing happened.  No tail.

We smiled happily at each other and headed to her friends’ house.

We were walking Frankie and Estella’s dogs, twin black labs, in their busy neighborhood park a few days later, and I’d just said something, (in a pretty off-handed way, it should be noted) that I’d soon regret, only I didn’t know it yet.

Iris gave me one of those mysterious looks that drove me crazy.  It was neither happy or sad, but thoughtful and a touch of something that eluded me.

“So I should be with someone closer to my own age?” she was asking me.

Had I said that?  I supposed I had.  And I supposed I still believed it, though that didn’t mean I was happy about it.

I sighed.

She had no intention of letting it go.

“Have you talked to any twenty-year-old boys lately, Dair?”

I tried to change the subject.  I hadn’t liked it, anyway.  “Are you saying you’re twenty now?”

“You’re avoiding the question.  Do you think I should be with someone closer to my own age?”

I sighed again.  “Yes of course.  I’ve told you this.”

“And you want to be with someone your age?”  Her tone was so idle that I didn’t hesitate to answer.

“I certainly think that would be more appropriate.”

Did I intend to follow through with my words?

Fuck no.  Not with any of them.

I just felt the need to say them.  They were the most rudimentary form of lip service.  A sop to my conscience, as it were.

As though that settled something, she nodded and started looking around the park.

“Why?  Why did you just ask me that?”

“That photographer friend of yours is very beautiful.”

“She is.”  Though I was trying to recall when Iris could have gotten a good look at her, and came up blank.

“And into you.  On your coffee date, she leaned in your direction, and laughed a lot.  That’s got to be a good sign.  Does she know about me?”

I studied her, wondering just how much Iris must have either spied on me, or had someone else do it.  I tried to work up some righteous outrage, but too many conflicted emotions made it hard to form a response, not the least of which worry that she knew I’d gone out for coffee with another woman, and didn’t seem to mind, going by her nonchalant tone.

“I’ll take that as a no.  Do you think she’s interested in you?”

This was strange for her, and bad for me.  To say she wasn’t the jealous type was the understatement of the year, but this was shaping into what, for a normal girl, would have been a jealous line of questioning.

I tried to give it to her as honest as I could.  “I think she wouldn’t mind if I asked her out, and she’d likely say yes, but she’s not aggressive enough to ever take that step herself.”

“Ahh, so you’re not as oblivious as you pretend to be.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”  I hated it when she treated me like I was the kid in this relationship.

“So, if you, say, called her up and asked her out on a date, do you think she’d go?”

“I’m not doing that—”

I’m not telling you to.  I’m just asking.”

I felt like an egotistical ass**le saying it, but if I was honest, “Yes, I think she’d go.  Where’s this ridiculous conversation heading?”

She didn’t answer, and that worried me.

“What are you up to?” I asked her.

“Just making sure that I understand everything.”

I knew the conversation didn’t portend good things, but I didn’t understand just how bad it was going until she ditched me in the park.

She didn’t go far, just about fifty feet away, where some meatheads were wrapping up their CrossFit drills.

It was an unseasonably warm day, the bright sun beating down, and she was wearing some of her tiny shorts (hot pink), flip flops (bright purple), and an adorable little neon yellow crop top that left her flat, tan stomach bare, and read: LOVE IS MY DRUG across her chest.

The pink was already fading from her hair, and it was currently a shade of adorable, cotton candy pink, hanging loose and silky around her shoulders.