“Not exactly.” Technically, I did ask about the kiss. My phrasing could’ve been a bit more straightforward, though.
“If you want to stop playing games, sometimes you’ve gotto fold first,” Isabella concludes, and catches her straw to suck down the last, rattling gulp of her Long Island iced tea.
“Or you could put a hit out on him,” Angie says.
For a beat I’m frozen, unsure whether she’s joking or not. Because on the one hand… at first glance she seems so sweet and harmless, and she was so generous with her help. But on the other, I’m now like eighty percent certain these ladies have some Mafia ties back in Jersey.
And then all four of them start cackling. “Your face!” Maryellen exclaims, wiping tears from under her glasses. “Oh, sweetie, you’re priceless.”
I join in their laughter, but it comes out sounding a bit stilted and forced. It falters more when Angie asks to see my phone, and programs in a number under the contact name:Brando—Trash Collector. “In case your lawyer friend needs reinforcements,” she says with a wink.
“Uh. Thanks.” I lock my phone screen, and when I glance up I spot Adam a few yards away. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets and a bemused smile on his lips as he takes in my company. He gives me a little wave, and it hits me all over again—that swell in my chest and the shaky swoop of my stomach. Not because he’s a selfish prick I want nothing to do with. The opposite.
“Um… I have to go.”
Helen follows my gaze and purses her lips again. “That him?”
The other ladies all rubberneck, and of course Isabella immediately starts cooing. “Look at that jawline! Oh, honey, you know how to pick them.”
“What the hell kind of shoes are those?” Maryellen mutters to Helen.
I slide off the stool I was occupying and tap my pocket to make sure the chips are all there. “Thank you again for your help,” I say. “You ladies are amazing, and I hope you win millions.”
“You take care of yourself,” Maryellen says, and the women all wave me off, a couple of them glaring at Adam for a beat before turning around and resuming their video poker.
As I approach Adam, he drags a hand through his hair, gaze dropping to the floor until I’m right in front of him. It’s not the face of someone who won big.
“That went about as well as I expected,” he says with a grimace.
“No worries,” I tell him. “Those women traded chips with me.”
“Seriously?” Adam looks over my shoulder, and I turn and follow his gaze to find all four women eyeing him as they sip their drinks.
“Uh… yeah. They were really nice.… A tiny bit scary. But anyway, between this and the money from the rings, we should have enough. Let’s get these cashed.”
We head over to the wall of cashiers and turn in our chips. I watch, hawklike, as the teller counts out the cash and Adam carefully tucks the stack of bills away in his wallet. I’m still basking in the sense of relief at finally having this problem solved when someone yells behind us.
“Hey you!” Adam and I both instinctively turn toward the voice, and I barely have enough time to process the fact that the silver-haired man who spoke is rushing directly at us before he winds his arm back and decks Adam.
I jump out of the way, hands covering my mouth as I watch Adam stumble to the floor. A whooping laugh, followedby a smoker’s cough that could only belong to Helen, can be heard over the commotion.
“Oh god, they did it. They hired a hit man.”
“What?” Adam says from the ground, one hand cupping his cheek where he took the hit.
I don’t have time to answer, because the next moment, security is on us.
A guard grabs the stocky man who punched Adam, who is yelling again, calling Adam a son of a bitch and demanding to be let go. And then a blonde woman—maybe a couple of years younger than me—is scrambling forward, eyes darting back and forth between Adam and the man.
“Daddy, oh my god,” she shrieks.
“That’s the guy who crashed your wedding!”
“So youhit him?” another woman screeches. She’s blonde as well—though in her case it definitely comes from a bottle. Judging from her protective hold on the younger woman and their similar traits, I’d say she’s the mother of the bride.
It’s becoming clear this man was not hired to kill Adam. And also, that the cake we were eating in Mae’s photo can be added to the list of things we did not pay for last night.
On the floor, Adam seems stunned. He sits with both hands in his lap, looking up at everyone hovered around him with this baffled expression on his face until another security guard kneels next to him. He helps Adam to his feet, and Adam touches his face once more, checking for blood. His cheekbone is red and his eye already seems a bit swollen, but the punch didn’t break the skin at least.
