Page 158 of Lovers Like Us

“Sure, but they could also jump you, and then what?” I’m not backingdown.

“They could also jump you.” He’s not backing downeither.

“I’m a trainedfighter.”

“And I fight a lot,” hecombats.

My brows spike. “I have agun.”

“I have aswitchblade.”

I roll my eyes and let out a laugh. “You’re sostubborn.”

He hones in on my lips and piercings. “Same to you, man.” His suddenfuck meeyes are killing me. My muscles burn, and veins pulse in mydick.

I watch him eye-fuck me, his forest-greens traveling lower, lower…I smile. “You’ll see my cock later, don’tworry.”

“I wasn’t, thanks,” he says dryly, but his breath shallows. His body tenses.Fuck me fuck meis the predominant plea, request andsentiment.

And damn, I want to fulfill that. But we both acknowledge place, time: Kansas past midnight with nine otherpeople.

Speaking of those people, they walk towards us, and our headsturn.

“Fortuneteller,” Donnelly reads the sign. “Dope.”

Maximoff ends up holding the door open, and we watch each person file inside one-by-one. I hang back with him. Omega goes first, canvassing the restaurant, then theirclients.

When my boyfriend and I enter together, I scan the eclectic decorations. Lava lamps sit on the scratched bar, orbs inside fishnets dangle from wooden rafters, and an old jukebox plays Johnny Cash. There are only six wooden tables, the placesmall.

Andempty.

Akara taps a bell on thebar.

“Anyone here?!” Sulli calls, noticing a kitchen door, and it whipsopen.

A withered, gray-haired waitress glides out, tying an apron around her waist. “Hey there. We usually only get truckers around this hour. Take a seat wherever you like.” She gestures to the tables. “My name’s Patricia. I’ll be servingyou.”

Maximoff was right. She doesn’t recognize the famous ones, and I doubt she’d care if we introduced them as A-listcelebrities.

We all push a couple tables together. I upright a ketchup bottle that knocksover.

Chairs creak as people begin to sit. I choose a spot at the end, and Maximoff takes a seat beside me. Oscar and Jane in front of us. Seating arrangement isn’t that random. We’re the furthest away from Thatcher andCharlie.

Patricia plants her hands on the table. Bent towards Jack. “We only have three things on the menu, boys.” She notices Jane and Sulli. “And ladies. Barbecue chicken, our nightly stew, and sour cream and raisin pie. Only one beer on draft, and we have some cold Fizzdrinks.”

“I’ll try the pie,” Sulli saysfirst.

Everyone else orders the barbecue chicken, sodas and water. We begin talking about music as “Folsom Prison Blues” starts booming. Then beads smack an entryway, a figure slinking dramatically through like she’s auditioning to playMadonna.

I balance back on two chair legs, thoroughlyentertained.

“What the…” Beckett trails off, his browscinched.

Smoky purple makeup shadows her eyes, and she aims for ourtable.

Patricia motions to the woman. “This is Fontina the Fortunate, my sister-in-law. All readings complimentary with your meals. Good luck, and I’ll be back with your drink andfood.”

Oscar mutters to me, “Yeah, I’m not feeling thisplace.”