Vegas Baby(25)

The metallic clink of Crew’s key in the lock precedes the pop and twist of the door handle.

I clear my throat and wait.

“Hey,” I whisper when he carefully steps inside. “She’s asleep.”

He gives me a thumbs up.

“You win big tonight?” I ask.

“Always.” He winks, unzipping his hoodie and hanging it on a coatrack in the corner. “Thanks for watching her. I owe you.”

I rise, cupping my hands on the back of my hips and stretching side to side before a yawn captures my mouth.

“It’s fine,” I say. “We had a good time. You owe me nothing.”

“You’re too good to me, Calypso. You know that?”

Crew tugs his sleeves, revealing his intricate and brightly colored tattoos. A drawing of four aces fanned-out catches my eye, the first card being the Ace of Hearts.

“You have any tattoos?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I’m boring.”

“Highly doubt that.” He pulls his sleeve higher, twisting his arm to showcase the rest.

Instinctively, I reach for a brightly colored Queen of Hearts, only the queen appears to be bleeding from the chest.

“Poetic.” I snicker.

“Symbolic.” He tugs the sleeve higher on his opposite arm, showing me a drawing of three lucky sevens. “And functional. I rub this one for good luck.”#p#分页标题#e#

I laugh. “You really believe your tattoos are lucky?”

“I believe in not breaking rituals. I did it once, and it worked, so I keep doing it. It’s compulsive. You ever watch me play, you’ll see it.”

“You’re like one of those basketball players who don’t change their socks all season.”

“Exactly.”

Crew wears a boyish grin, and I’m disarmed against my will. He reminds me of a kid showing off his prized baseball cards and basking in the admiration and attention he receives.

“You keep these covered a lot,” I say. “You’re always in long sleeves.”

“It’s a habit.”

I smooth my palm along his arm before tracing the outline of a pair of dice.

“My parents kind of have this thing where they hate gambling,” he says.

“That’s right. You said they run an addiction treatment program.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And my dad has a bad heart. He’s had several open heart surgeries the last couple of years. We’re supposed to keep him calm as much as possible or it could set off his arrhythmia, and then he has an episode and . . . it’s just not good.”

“You going to hide them the rest of your life?”

Crew rests his hands on his hips, pulling his arm from mine and tucking his chin. He pulls in a breath that fills his chest and releases it slowly.

“I live in the moment, Calypso. I don’t make plans. I’m one hundred percent present.” He shakes his head, his brows rising. “I’ve always figured things out as I go along.”

Our eyes catch, and the flicker of the muted TV behind me shines in his.

“I hope you don’t think I’m a fucking coward for hiding this from my parents,” he says. “It’s not even like that.”

“You’re protecting them,” I say. “It’s noble.”

He laughs. “I’d hardly call myself noble, but yeah. Something like that.”

I bet his parents are good people. They have to be if they make a living helping people.

My parents were a couple of wildflowers, high on marijuana and floating through life without a care in the world. I used to think they were just hippies, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize they’re just a couple of dopers who never wanted to grow up and deal with real life and real responsibilities. Everything I learned about how to function in this life, I learned from everyone but my parents.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Crew says. “My dad’s a fucking asshole. But he’s my dad, you know?”

I sweep my hair across the back of my neck and drape it over my shoulder, catching a whiff of Emme’s powdery smell mixing with my lavender shampoo. The tranquil mixture makes me even sleepier.

I yawn. “I should go.”

I catch a flash of something in Crew’s eyes. A silent plea to stay, perhaps? But it’s late, and I’m half-asleep, and I’m positive I’m reading into nothing.

He leans into me, and for a second my heart stops cold in my heart. I harbor a breath and brace myself for a kiss . . .

. . . that never happens.

I feel stupid.

So. Fucking. Stupid.

He was just getting the door for me.

I wear a smile tinted with sheepish embarrassment.

“Did you think I was going to kiss you?” He smirks, raking his thumb and forefinger along his bottom lip as he studies me.