Until There Was You(58)

“So, Steve, how is it being back and all?” she asked, getting up and leaning against his slot machine. “Elise said you just moved back from Texas, was it?”

“It’s pretty good.” He gave her a quick smile—that was nice; he remembered she was here—and pulled the crank again. “Wanna be my lucky charm?”

“Sure.”

He pulled the crank again. Lost again. He glanced at her, pulled. “You done already?”

“Yeah. Amazing how fast you can go through twenty dollars.”

“Twenty bucks? That’s all you brought?” He gave her an incredulous glance, then lost again, reached over and pulled another lever. Lost again. Pulled, lost, cursed. Pulled, lost, cursed. Posey sighed. The good news was she didn’t seem to have a gambling problem. Bad news was that Steve did.

Sure enough, he cursed again. “I don’t believe it!” he blurted, staring at a message on the screen in front of him. “My credit card is maxed out again. Perfect.” He smacked the screen of the slot machine, shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed.

Steve was not going to be the father of her children, that was clear.

“This really sucks.” He glanced at her again. “Do you have a credit card?”

“Um…yes.”

“Want to front me some money? Just a hundred or so.”

“No, thanks.”

He sighed. “Okay. Wanna get a room?”

Posey blinked. “No, I’m good.” Elise would be hearing about this, that was for sure.

“Well,” Steve said, checking his phone, “I guess we can…I don’t know. Walk or something. I’m broke.”

Dante of the Booty Call was looking better and better. At least he fed her.

“Why don’t we just go our separate ways, Steve?” Posey suggested. If she left now, she could get a pizza before Angie’s closed. Settle in, watch a movie…

“Aw, man! Posey, can you…uh, stand right here and don’t move, okay?” He hunched down, pretending to tie his shoe, and glanced around Posey’s hips. “Crap. Let’s go. Come on, hurry up!” With that, he grabbed her hand and jerked her past the oxygen-tank lady, one hand shielding his face as if he were Lady Gaga dodging the paparazzi.

“Steve, stop! What are you doing?” Posey glanced over her shoulder. “Holy Elvis! Are they here for you?”

Two uniformed police officers and three or four burly casino security men were pointing and talking into radios. Posey jerked to a stop. “Are you under arrest?” she yelped, wrenching her arm free.

“Steven Aubrey, you are under arrest,” called the female officer. “Stop or I will use this Taser before you can say Charlie Sheen.”

Steve stopped.

“Unbelievable,” Posey said. “Can you believe this?” she asked the oxygen-tank lady. No answer, but there was a tinkle of coins.

“Gotcha, you bastard,” the old lady said, scooping up her winnings. “You must be my lucky charm,” she added, giving Posey a smile.

“My date’s being arrested,” Posey told her.

“She let me borrow it!” Steve called. “She’s senile. She forgot, that’s all!”

“Did she forget you hocked her engagement ring, too?” the cop said. “Hands behind your head, scumbag.”

Steve hesitated, then bolted, but the tiny man swung his walker out, tripping Steve. He went down at the feet of a security guard, who calmly stepped on the back of his neck.

Posey felt a nudge at her side. “Ma’am? Hands behind your head, please.” It was the female cop.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Posey said, obeying. “I barely know this guy. His cousin fixed us up. Fun date, don’t you think?”

“Are you aware that he stole his grandmother’s car and jewelry?” the officer asked.

“No! Jeesh, Steve! That’s really low.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” Steve said, his words muffled by the carpet. “We just met.” The second officer slapped on some handcuffs.

“You know how to pick ’em, sister,” the officer said.

“Tell me about it,” Posey muttered.

“I thought my mom’s podiatrist was bad, but you win.”

“See, I would love a podiatrist. Think of the foot rubs. Can I put my hands down?”

“Sure.” The officer took her name and phone number, but Posey was quickly cleared. Cleared! How many dates had required her being cleared? Still, it would make a good story—Vivian would love it, as would Jon. Her parents…not so much. Then again, they didn’t have to know.

Steve apparently had life yet in him, because as they hauled him to his feet, he twisted away and broke into a staggering run. Just ahead of him was a Japanese family—mother, father, toddler in stroller—and though his hands were cuffed behind his back, Steve grabbed the handle of the stroller, as if he planned to drag it behind him as a hostage or something. The mother screamed, grabbed the stroller back, and all of a sudden, Steve was on the ground, convulsing, the toddler smiling at the excitement.

“Bull’s-eye,” said the female officer, blowing a kiss to her Taser.

“Now I know what I want for my birthday,” Posey murmured.

“I shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do,” the officer said, “but come on. He grabbed that kid, he had it coming. I should’ve aimed lower.”