Page 57 of Speak of the Devil (New Hope 3)

“What does it look like? Read the sign. The Taco Shack. Best joint in town, if you ask me.”

“It looks like a trailer. “

“Yeah,” I say. “They make tacos. In a trailer.”

“I don’t eat in trailers.”

“Well, lucky for you, we’re not eating in the trailer. We’re eating over there.” I point at a picnic table.

“Two Crossroads and two t’s please,” I say to the lady at the counter.

“I’m not eating here.”

I laugh because he’s so adamant.

“Fine, suit yourself. Good thing I’m starving.”

“Starving is a bit of a stretch. I’ve seen real starvation. You’re overshooting it a bit, don’t you think?”

“When have you seen starvation?”

“In the lab.”

“Oh.”

He hands the lady a twenty. “What’s a T?”

“You’ll see.”

It takes twenty minutes for our order to arrive. We wait, mostly silently, on a picnic table under the stars. “It’s chilly out,” Elliot says eventually. He pulls off his coat and offers it to me, but I don’t take it. I don’t feel the cold.

Finally, the server arrives with a tray, and places two tacos and two shots of tequila in front of us. I pick one of them up and then nod at Elliot to lift the second for a toast. When he doesn’t, I shrug and toss mine back anyway. It feels smooth going down, too smooth. It warms me from the inside, spreading like vines until I feel like nothing and everything matters.

“I don’t drink.”

“Me either,” I say. “But I’ve never had anything like this.”

He stares at me intently, like he’s lost and is trying to place himself.

“Sometimes,” I say. “You just need to feel something.”

I watch as he fingers the glass, picks it up, and shoots it down.

“I think you’re right,” he tells me with a grimace. Then proceeds to eat one of the tacos and half of mine, too.

When we’re finished, he leans closer. “Stay with me tonight.”

“I—”

“I can pay you. It’s just…I don’t want to be alone.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t make the best decisions when left to my own devices.”

“Clearly,” I say,

gesturing at our empty trays.