Vegas Baby(10)

Emme.

“Your name is Emme?” I ask, as if she could possibly answer.

She kicks with force and blows a spit bubble.

“I’m Crew,” I say. “Dad. Whatever you want to call me, you know, when you’re old enough to decide.”

If I’m going to be a dad, I’m going to be a cool motherfucking dad.

I rise up and grab the box containing a bouncer decorated in circus animals. This little princess needs a place to sit. It’s going to be a long night for the both of us.



***



Emme sleeps soundly in a vibrating bouncer several hours later, my living room looking like a Christmas morning war zone. Torn cardboard, plastic wrap, and instruction booklets litter the place.

Now I need a goddamned nap.

Falling back into the sofa, I glance at the baby one last time before shutting my eyes and welcoming a dusky sleep.

I’m right there, on the edge, seconds from succumbing to what could only be the most delicious nap I’ve had in ages, when a light rapping on the door pulls me clear out of it.

I groan, remembering the book drop-off. The broken clock, which my sister apparently fixed and rehung, reads half past seven. Sitting up and dragging my hands down my face, I make my way to the door and check the peephole. That organic-looking blonde from the Tipsy Poet stands on the other side.

All this time I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen her before. I suppose we have opposite schedules, our days and nights switched. She’s not exactly my type, but I’m not blind. She’s beautiful in an earthy kind of way. Natural and sunlit from within. Long hair I could lose my hands in and a long skirt that could easily lend its way to easy access.

“Hey.” I pull the door slowly, hoping it doesn’t creak and wake Emme. “Shh. She’s sleeping.”

The blonde honey looks over my shoulder and nods.

I should move Emme to her crib. She’d probably sleep better there.

“Give me a sec,” I say, scooping the baby in my arms and carrying her back to her new room. There’s enough room in my spare bedroom for a crib and changing table. The poker table hogging half the space is going to have to go into storage at one of my flip houses next chance I get, which means no more hosting poker tourneys.

“Where do you want these?” she asks when I return. Her hands grip a silver dolly so tightly her knuckles whiten.

Do I make her nervous?

I reach past and take the cart, pulling it in and depositing the stack of damn near thirty books in the corner. Some of them are textbook size, heavy and filled with pages upon pages of everything I could possibly need to know about taking care of a baby.

“You’re going to read all those, huh?” I think I amuse her.

“I’m a speed reader,” I say. “Freakishly fast. I tested out of a lot of college classes that way. Read the textbook in a day. Tested out the next.”

She says nothing, only studies me.

“Smarter than I look, huh?” I’ve heard it all before.

“I didn’t say that.”

She wants to figure me out. I got that from the bookstore when I saw the way she looked at me when I pulled out my black Amex. But it wasn’t the way most girls look at me when they see that. She’s curious, not opportunistic.

I wheel the empty dolly toward the door.

“I can’t believe I’ve never seen you around here,” I say.

“I’m gone most of the time.” She gathers a long blonde wave in her hand and flattens it along her shoulder. “I work a lot.”#p#分页标题#e#

“At the book shop?”

She nods. “Yeah. I own the place.”

“Oh. Nice. How long?”

“A couple of years now,” she says.

“It’s a nice place. Cozy.”

“So not Vegas.” She smiles like she’s embarrassed, gently rolling her eyes. “I’m not sure what I was thinking, opening up a place like that in a city where people are busy doing everything but reading.”

I shrug. She’s right. She’s got a painted sign above her shop when the rest of the city has flashing neon lights. The only reason I found it was because a quick Internet search told me it was the nearest bookstore.

“Sometimes it’s good to stand out,” I say.

“What do you do?” she asks. “Seems like everyone around here is a dancer or Black Jack dealer.”

I scratch the side of my jaw. “Definitely not a dancer.”

Our eyes catch. She’s got the longest lashes I’ve ever seen, dirty blonde and thick. They curl up at the ends and frame her sky blues.

“I’m a professional poker player,” I say, “by night. I also flip houses. Usually have a couple of projects at a time going. But if you ask my parents, I’m a math teacher at a private high school in North Vegas.”