Full Tilt (Full Tilt #1)(17)
I took that as a good sign. “Hey, you know what? I’m f*cking starving. How about we get some food somewhere? I still have about an hour before I need to get back and get ready for the show. Whaddya say? You up for something? My treat.”
Jonah’s face stiffened and the muscles in his shoulders tensed up. “I have to drive tonight, at six, and I’m on a really tight schedule…”
“You keep saying that.” I chucked him in the shoulder, like we were old pals. “Don’t you ever break your routine?”
“No. I do not.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip. I was nothing if not tenacious. “One greasy, post-hangover diner lunch won’t take that long, will it? Half-hour, forty-five minutes, tops.”
Jonah’s shrewd dark eyes met mine, and I could feel him studying me. He was observant, this guy, and I felt like my insecurities were written all over me.
Or maybe it’s because you look like the poster girl for the Walk of Shame.
“I said you were welcome to eat anything here,” Jonah said finally.
“And it was kind of you to offer, but you don’t have much in the way of…actual food.”
“I have lots of dietary restrictions,” he said.
“Sure.” I coughed. “But why, exactly?”
Jonah looked to be waging an internal struggle, whether or not to tell me what I already suspected.
“I have a heart condition,” he said slowly.
“Oh?” As if I hadn’t already snooped through his medicine cabinet. My eyes itched to glance at the scar that began in the hollow of his throat. I kept my gaze plastered to his face. I must’ve looked like a crazy person, staring so intently because Jonah took a step backward.
“Anyway. That’s another long story and…Yeah, I guess we could grab some food if you’re really hungry.”
“Starved!” I put my thigh-high boots back on, which looked strange with my leather skirt and men’s T-shirt, but I was out of the bustier, thank God.
“I’m ready.”
“Okay,” Jonah said hesitantly. “A quick lunch and then I get you back to Summerlin.”
“Sounds great.”
He probably only agreed to food so we would change the subject, but no matter the reason, I was happy for a stay of execution. It wasn’t much, but I took it.
I led Kacey out through the parking lot to my truck: a small pick-up in blue, its flatbed filled with cardboard boxes. I held the passenger door open for her, which seemed to surprise her. This whole lunch outing surprised me: not in the schedule by any stretch. But obviously Kacey was in no hurry to rejoin her band. After whatever catastrophe she’d caused at the Pony Club, staying with me was an act of self-preservation.
I climbed behind the wheel and my eyes strayed again to Kacey’s thighs, smooth-skinned between her boots and the almost non-existent mini-skirt. Part of a colorful tattoo was partially visible on her thigh and the urge to see the rest of it was ridiculously strong. Kacey was easy on the eyes. Actually she was more than that. She was beautiful. But so what? She was more Theo’s type with her bleached hair, leather, and tattoos.
My eyes strayed to her thighs again. How long had it been since I’d touched a woman?
One year, four months, thirteen days, and eighteen hours.
I scoffed at my inner mathematician, though the number probably wasn’t far off. I hadn’t been with a woman since my ex-girlfriend, Audrey. Before I got sick.
“What’s with the boxes in the back?” Kacey asked, jolting me from my thoughts. “Are you moving?”
“No, they’re full of glass,” I said, grateful for the distraction. “Old bottles and jars that I melt down to make my pieces. I’m going to take them to the hot shop tomorrow.”
“So the hot shop is where you blow the glass?” Kacey snickered.
I arched a brow at her.
“I know, I know. I’m twenty-two but I have the sense of humor of a fourteen-year-old boy.” She turned in her seat toward me. “And how do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Raise only one eyebrow. I’ve always wanted to.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just can.”
“Do it again.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s cool.”
I arched my brow at her. “Is it?”
She laughed and sat back in her seat, satisfied. The broad smile remained on her lips as she watched Las Vegas passing outside her window. Even only half-turned to me, she had a stunning smile.
“So what are you working on?” she asked after a moment. “At the hot shop.”
“Well… I’m working on an exhibit for a local gallery. It opens in October. The exhibit, not the gallery.”
Smooth, Fletcher. But it had been months since I’d spoken to a stranger about the exhibit. I’d whittled my circle down to exactly three friends, my family, and the curator of the gallery. Until Kacey, I hadn’t fully grasped just how small a circle that was.
“Will you sell your glass at this exhibit?” Kacey asked. “Like those beautiful paperweights?”
“Yes, I’ll have small pieces like that for sale, but the main focus will be a large-scale installation.”