Page 5

Scarlet stares at him. “Who? Tiller?”
If only.
“No. That crow.” He motions to a crow on the sidewalk outside where someone had left a whole rotisserie chicken in a plastic tray. Like the kind you get from the deli. “He’s been trying to get inside that plastic box and people just laugh and point at him.”
Shade’s easily distracted by what’s around him. Strangely enough, I know how that crow feels. Everyone’s judging his performance.
All right, maybe that’s a bad example but fuck that shit.I’m not playing this up as a publicity stunt of maybe I’ll show, maybe I won’t. It’s way beyond that. Now I might skip all of them. Although, I was thinking of going to round three. Only because it’s in Santa Monica and I enjoy that city. “The tour can suck my left nut. Maybe the right one too.”
“Why’d you sign up to do it if you had no intention of actually showing up?” Scarlet asks. “You realize they can sue you for false advertising and not fulfilling the obligations you agreed to.”
“I didn’t sign shit,” I point out. “You motherfuckers did. I never once said I was going to do it. Rod couldn’t get the pull with the tour sponsors unless my name was on it with this fucker’s.” I motion to Shade with a disgusted nod. “Not my problem.”
Scarlet blows out a frustrated sigh, picking at her cuticles, and then her head falls dramatically into her hands. “What a mess.”
Satisfied with myself, I chuckle, patting my pockets for my smokes.
When I have one in hand, I light it and Scarlet scowls at me, her face whitening beneath her golden tan. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”
The cigarette dangles from my parted lips. “Says who?”
She points behind her at the door. “The sign that says no smoking.”
“Whatever.” I don’t put it out and jerk my chin her direction. “For the record—” I take a puff of my cigarette. “—I don’t have to do a damn thing you say. Last time I checked, you weren’t my mother.”
“Hey,” Shade snaps, his focus on his phone in his hand. “Cut the shit, bro. She’s only trying to do her job.” His words are sharp as he finally looks over the top of his sunglasses only to see me roll my eyes at him.
“I don’t give a shit if she isjustdoing her job,” I say, still watching him. “It doesn’t make a goddamn difference to me.”
We’re locked in a stare for a moment, my expression one he’s never going to understand, his twisted with anger that won’t get anywhere with me.
Shade knows he’ll never win a verbal, or physical battle with me, and he’s never tried. He knows better.
Tossing his phone on the table, he slouches in the chair, raising his beer to his lips. But holding it at bay, he smirks when he asks, “Did you fuck that chick from the bar the other night?”
Ah, yes. The chick from last night I met at the bar. Propping my head against my hand, I mentally wrack my brain for the nun’s name, but I can’t remember. Like it makes a difference.
“She was a nun, but no, we didn’t get that far.” I shrug, remembering the pain of that goddamn Taser hitting my arm. “She fucking Tased me. For someone I saw at the bar by herself all the time... I should have known she had a Taser.”
I’m all for pain with my pleasure, but Tasers, nah, not into that shit.
“Tiller,” Scarlet scolds, disappointment marring her questioning gaze. “Where are your damn boundaries? Don’t go messing with all that’s holy.”
Boundaries? I should have been drowned at birth in holy water.
“That doesn’t even make any sense.” I reach for the fortune cookies Pancake Ass set on the table with the check. “Regardless. . . she had the peaches,” I mumble, not really in the mood for any of this. I’d rather be at home in bed. “I had the cream.”
Scarlet snorts, rolling her eyes. “Are you seriously quoting Def Leppard?”
I shrug. Some people have the Bible, I have eighties rock. Seriously, take some time and listen. That shit is poetry, and Def Leppard might as well be the Shakespeare of eighties rock.
Remember when I said I never know when the anxiety will push me over the edge? It’s the truth, but sometimes, I can sense the warning signs. Like the heat rushing through my body or the way swallowing feels like I’m trying to choke down sand. Pushing away from the table, I nod outside. “I’m taking off.”
Scarlet tosses a fortune cookie at me. “You better not skip round two.”
I don’t turn back to acknowledge her because guess what? Like I said, I plan on skipping it. There are reasons. Reasons I’m probably not going to share with you just yet, but know I didn’t make this decision out of anger. Actually, I did, but this time, I had a plan and it has everything to do with the promoter of the event, Rod.
Outside the restaurant, the warm southern California sun hits my face and makes it easier to breathe. Squinting against the bright contrast against the white car on the curb, I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes, my attention diverting to my cell phone vibrating in my pocket.