Shimmy Bang Sparkle(43)

“A dozen should do it!” I said, giggling as he tickled my side.

“Make it fourteen,” he said into his phone, smiling at me all the time.

Once the lady had read the order back to him and he ended the call, he put his phone on the counter and gave me this look, this possessive, needy stare and said, “It’s gonna be an hour. Gives us plenty of time.”

I leaned against the still-warm oven and braced for impact. He was coming for me. And I was ready.

But when he got to me, he didn’t kiss me. He caged me in and looked me in the eye, and said, “Can I ask you something, now that we’ve got some stuff out in the open?”

I looped my arms around him and ran my fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck. It was a little bit scary, standing on this precipice between the two halves of my life. But scary in a good way. It did make me a little shy, though, and I lowered my eyes. There, on the inside of his forearm, I noticed a tattoo that hadn’t caught my eye before. It was small. It was black.

It was a spade.

The thing was, I didn’t really know how to be with an accountant or a dentist, or, God forbid, a lawyer. I never knew what made them tick, and I’d never been able to be myself around them long enough to find out, either. The tattoo reminded me that we weren’t two people burning up for one another; we were lovers who could also could understand each other in a way that few people could. “Lemme guess. It’s time for Twenty Questions?”

He nodded, and he pressed his forehead against mine and nuzzled my cheek. “Question one. What the hell is in the bottom of your purse?”



While we waited for the Chinese food, we sat on the sofa together. He was in his boxers, and I was in a sweatshirt and panties. I had my feet in his lap, and there was a bag of M&Ms between us. In my hands, I held the puzzle box. I tapped on the top right corner and then the middle of the underside, feeling for the almost imperceptible flexing of the brass. “My grandpa gave it to me,” I said as I touched the fifth spot. “And normally, I don’t keep it with me. But someone”—I nudged his abs with my toe—“has had me awfully distracted. You ready?”

He raised his hands, palms up, and flicked his fingers. “I was born ready.”

With one final press of the box, the top popped open. Inside, all my little beauties glimmered by the twinkling Christmas lights above the television. My rubies and my sapphires, my pearl necklace. My emeralds. All courtesy of the craft store, patience, and a whole lot of resin. “Ta-da,” I said, and turned the box around in my lap.

Nick’s mouth dropped open. “Holy shit,” he said, leaning in, laughing the way people did when they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. “Can I?”

I extended the box to him. “Be my guest.”

When he plunged his hand into the gems, my pearl necklace spilled out. It reminded me of one of those aquarium treasure chests. He took the pearls and did what everybody did with them—the bite test. They would pass with flying colors.

He checked each gem on either side. “Are these real?”

I shook my head, feeling so proud that it gave me goose bumps. “Resin and Roxie’s microbead face scrub.”

His eyes flashed. “No way.” He picked up a ruby and held it up to the light. “These are all plastic?”

“Yep,” I said, holding up a sapphire to the light too. “I’m very crafty.”

“How the hell did you learn to do any of this?” he asked. “I mean you just look so . . . girl-next-door. When I saw you steal that ring, you could’ve knocked me over with a feather.”

“Aren’t you sweet,” I said, and took my puzzle box back from him. “I learned the gems from YouTube. I learned about stealing from experience and my grandpa. But that’s two questions. My turn.”

He set his beer down and gave me a flick of his chin. “Go for it.”

I reached into the bag of M&Ms and took out a small handful, separating out the greens and the yellows, and thought back to his rap sheet. “You got caught.”

Nick made a throaty growl. “I did.”

“How?” I asked.

He blew out a long breath and cringed a little. I thought maybe he would pass, and I certainly wouldn’t have blamed him. But he didn’t. “I was down in Truth or Consequences. It was gonna be a straightforward exchange. Loose gems for unmarked bills. So I’m there, I’m set. I’m on my own. And I show up for the meet. Everything’s going fine. But then I make the exchange and all hell breaks loose.” Nick scratched his eyelid with his thumbnail. “Fucking undercover cop with a four-inch tattoo of an eagle on his neck.”

“Noooo!” I said, clutching my M&Ms so hard they started to feel a little bit melty.

“Yep. Fuck,” he said, shaking his head. “And that was that. Seven months later, I’m out. Trying to get straight, watching you steal an engagement ring and up to my eyeballs in gambling debt.” He winced. “Sorry. Not exactly the most eligible bachelor in the 505.”

What he didn’t know was that with every detail, he was getting more and more eligible in my eyes. Because though I’d never been caught, I understood the struggle. I understood the grind. The gambling somehow fit him, and yet I couldn’t see him hanging around the casinos playing blackjack all day. “Let me guess. Horses?”