Page 6 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

She pushes back a piece of golden blonde hair that’s fallen out of her bun, securing it with a bobby pin, then starts the car. It’s clean inside. A fresh green tree hanging from the rearview mirror. No real trash except a McDonald’s coffee cup left in the center cup holder.

“So…” She laughs awkwardly. I don’t feel awkward, though. Probably should. But I don’t. I just made peace with being…gone. Relief feels imminent. And all ofthisfeels like it could be a final good deed. Even the score, instead of going out like a selfish prick by letting some waitress pay for my last meal.

“You sure you don’t need to get home?” I ask again, making sure.

She laughs, not awkwardly this time. “God, I should probably lie and tell you I have three brothers, all Navy Seals, waiting for me, but, well, I don’t know.” She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “It feels pointless to try and lie to you. So no, there’s no one at home. Not even a cat.”Jesus. Whisper quiet, she says, “There’s barely even a home.” My chest pinches tight.

“Hmm,” I sort of hum.

“Wh-what about you? Is anybody waiting for you?”‘Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t come see me.’

I roll my head back and forth against the headrest, eventually landing on, “No one.”

“Yeah,” is all she says back. A deep understanding in her tone.

We drive silently for the next 15 minutes. Well, mostly silently. Her radio is tuned to Christmas music, and occasionally, she absentmindedly sings along with the carols, not realizing it, I’m sure.

Eventually, we pull into another strip mall, and she parks near a coffee shop that’s just opening.

It’s a small place with only two tables and two sofas in the back.Two exits, three windows.

At the counter, I motion to let her order first.

“Can I please have a Snickers latte with extra caramel sauce and an almond croissant?” She smiles at the barista, offering her name when asked, then looks to me.

“I’ll have the same to drink and an old-fashioned donut.” She glances at me, maybe with surprise.Life is short, right?

I hand over a hundred-dollar bill to pay, but the barista stops me.

“Yeah, we don’t take bills that large.” I whip out my card, dropping the hundred in the tip jar instead. “Oh, I mean…” The barista stutters.

I hold my card to the contactless reader and just say, “Merry Christmas.”

Emma blushes, holds her purse to her a little bit tighter, and shuffles sideways while we wait for the drinks.

I find myself absently staring at her while we do. Honestly, I hadn’t given her even a second glance inside the restaurant.

She’s taller than her, with golden blonde hair and fair skin. She’s pretty. Definitely seems like Blanks’ type. Sweet, too. Genuinely sweet.If she’d been at that club tonight…

“Emma,” the barista calls out, sliding two to-go coffee cups on the bar and two small bags. Bypassing our order’s namesake, I grab all the items and lead her to a table. Sliding a chair out with my foot, I motion for her to take the seat.

“Well, this is nice for a change,” she says, watching me set her latte in front of her, then place a pastry bag beside her cup.

Settling in, the ease I feel in her presence surprises me.

“How long have you worked at…the diner?” I don’t even know the name of the fucking place.

“Three years. How long have you been in Vegas?”

I glance at the vintage Patek Philippe watch wrapped around my wrist. “16 hours. Vegas native?”

Maybe I’ll leave the watch in her car. As a parting gift. That would be a hell of a lot better than the $500 I’d offered her earlier.

“Mostly…yeah,” she answers. “Where do you call home?”

It’s tit for tat, she’s not interested in monologuing. It would be refreshing if I didn’t abhor talking about myself. But how to answer this? I have the house in Spearhead, but I don’t want tothink about the specifics of that right now. I also have Georgia’s house, but I don’t really spend time in anyoneplace.

“I travel a lot, but uh, central California is mostly home.”