“It wasn’t a suggestion.” I hook my arm around his. “I’m sure there is a dive diner open twenty-four hours around here. A greasy cheeseburger and chocolate milkshake sounds good to me.”
Damon looks at me with a tired grin. I think he appreciates my effort.
“A greasy cheeseburger, chocolate milkshake, and French fries,” he specifies.
“Done. I’m buying.”
“Liv,” Damon bemoans.
“Shut it.” I drag him across the casino floor. “You coming, Knuckles?”
“I’m good. I want a pillow and mattress more than a milkshake.”
“Suit yourself.” I wave. “See you later.”
Luckily, in Vegas, all your dreams come true, because not two blocks away is a vintage diner, with bright lights and a shiny metal exterior. It reminds me of New York and of my childhood. Brunch on Sundays with my dad growing up. I got the same thing every time, Texas-style French toast with fresh blueberries and whipped cream, and chocolate milk.
I push those memories away. I don’t want to be sad, even though I am. All the time. It’s like I can’t outrun it. The pain of losing him. And ironically, the only time I truly feel better, more at ease, is when I’m with Damon. The very last person on Earth I want to be involved with.
We sit down in a red vinyl booth and don’t even bother looking at the menu. We ask for the exact same thing when the young pretty waitress in the salmon-colored uniform comes to take our order.
We’re both beat, but looking forward to putting some food into our stomachs.
“How’d you do tonight?” I wonder aloud.
“Not terrible. Up six thousand.” He scratches his stubbled face out of exhaustion.
“So where does that put us?”
“With the money I put aside from my bike, twenty-seven thousand.”
Only seventy-something grand more to go. The thought is daunting.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize.
“For what?” Damon takes a huge gulp of water.
“That you had to sell your bike. That you’re in this whole situation to begin with.”
He stares across the table at me with a blank expression. “You’re the last person who needs to apologize. It’s my dad who owes both of us an apology. It’s his stupid fucking decisions that got us both into this.” Damon slams his fist on the table, and I jump.
“Sorry.” He reaches for me. “I’m sorry.” He takes my hand. “I’m overtired, and my emotions are a shit storm. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” I try to pull away, but Damon holds on tighter.
“As much as I wish you weren’t involved in any of this, you being here makes it all bearable.” He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. He just concentrates on our joined hands. He doesn’t need to look at me for me to know expressing that was difficult for him. Especially since I severed any kind of romantic relationship that may have been brewing.
The last thing we need is sex clouding our judgment. Or emotions getting involved that would just lead to heartache.
This is best. Distance. Friendship. Nothing more.
The waitress drops off our food, and I notice the way she looks at Damon. I’ve seen that expression many times. Attraction. Allure. An unspoken invitation to fuck in the bathroom. In the past, he’d eat that shit up for breakfast. But he barely pays her any mind. He barely even notices her.
I nibble on a French fry as he squirts some ketchup on his burger.
“You didn’t find that waitress attractive?” I don’t know what makes me ask the question. Gross curiosity, I guess. She’s a cute girl. If my door swung both ways, I’d do her.
“Huh?” He pauses with the plastic ketchup bottle hovering above his plate.
