Full Tilt (Full Tilt #1)(76)

“They take care of them. You’ve taken care of me since the day we met. Let me have a turn.”

He sighed with a little smile. “We’ll see.”





The rest of the week flew by in a blur. Jonah worked hard at the hot shop. I slung cocktails at Caesar’s at night and started a half-dozen songs during the day, none of which sparked me. The Chihuly invitation made Jonah a nervous wreck. The approaching Sunday dinner with his parents did the same to me.

I went shopping at a local thrift store for something plainer than my usual get-ups. Something that covered my tattoos and wasn’t made from leather or vinyl. I combed racks, consumed with wanting to make a good impression. All I found were echoes of my father, telling me what a disappointment I was. All the old demons followed me into dressing rooms as I tried on garment after garment. I felt like a fraud in everything. I came home with nothing.

“They either like me or they don’t,” I muttered to myself back at home, as I dressed in my own clothes and applied my usual cat-eye black eyeliner and red lipstick. I sucked on a Diet Coke, wishing it had a slug of rum in it.

I tied my hair in a side braid and slipped on a black sleeveless tank dress. It came to mid-thigh, meeting up with my tall black boots that came just over my knee.

Jonah arrived at my place wearing jeans and a dark dress shirt rolled at mid arm, his hair still damp from the shower.

“You look amazing,” I said, fastening a long necklace with a Celtic-looking silver pendant. “As usual.”

“That’s my line,” he said, his eyes raking me up and down. “And you…are f*cking beautiful.”

My cheeks burned as I smoothed down the billowy folds of the dress. “I thought about wearing a normal dress. But it felt wrong. I mean, this is who I am. The tattoos and the hair and the makeup… It’s not a rock star act, it’s me.”

Jonah moved to take me in his arms. His hand ran up my tattooed arm. “I like it,” he said. “I like you.”

“I just want them to like me. I’m afraid I might not be what they’re expecting.”

“Listen.” He held me tighter. “My parents expected nobody. The fact I’m even bringing someone to dinner is in your favor. Trust me, my mother is going to flip over you.”

I glanced up at him. “And your dad?”

Jonah gently brushed a tendril of hair from my eye. “He’s going to love you.”





The Fletchers lived in a modest two-story house, in a cute, suburban neighborhood of Belvedere. We drove past row after row of houses, all separated by rock lawns and wrought iron fences. Theo’s truck was already parked along the curb in front of the Fletcher house. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since his unexpected visit last week. Another knot twisted in my gut as I got out of the car.

At six-fifteen on a late July evening, the heat had mellowed to a bearable ninety degrees. Las Vegas had been my official home for three weeks and I was already getting used to the weather.

I clutched Jonah’s arm as he led me up the short walk to the front door. “Shit, I didn’t bring your mom anything,” I said. “Can we go back? I saw a flower shop on the way—”

The front door opened and a short, plump lady beamed at us from the threshold. She was in her mid-fifties, with chin-length brown hair, dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved blouse.

“I thought I heard voices,” she said.

“Hey, Mom,” Jonah said.

She hugged him tight and held his face for a moment, her eyes taking him in. “You look wonderful,” she said. She turned to me. “Doesn’t he look wonderful? And you must be Kacey.”

She stepped down to embrace me. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

Her embrace smelled like warm bread and it soothed my nerves. “I’m happy to meet you too, Mrs. Fletcher,” I said, inexplicable tears filling my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time my own mother had hugged me.

“Please, please, call me Beverly.” She started back to the house, waving us in after. “Theo’s already here, and the lasagna is just about done. Do you like lasagna, Kacey?”

“I love it,” I said, slipping my hand into Jonah’s.

“Did I forget to mention she’s a hugger?” he whispered to me.

I nodded. “I love her.”

Beverly led us through the living room. It was simply furnished, a little cluttered, with Jonah’s beautiful glass pieces displayed on side tables, bookshelves and windowsills. A gallery of photos on one wall showed Theo’s artwork—he’d been a talent since he was a toddler—and Theo and Jonah at every stage of life: Little League, school portraits, prom pictures. Mugging side-by-side from preschool to adolescence, one smiling bright, the other making a face or scowling.

“You’ve been adorable your whole life,” I said, pausing to examine a middle school photo, Jonah’s teeth obscured by braces.

“Let’s move along, nothing to see here,” he said, gently dragging me to the kitchen.

Theo sat at the island, its counter brown speckled granite that matched the backsplash. The cabinets were a warm, scuffed white. Like the living room, the kitchen was simple and cluttered. The heart of the house, filled with warm, comforting smells and good food. The last of my nervousness fell away, and I went to wrap my arms around Theo from behind and kiss his cheek.