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“Don’t be shy,” says Adrian—and he’s saying it to me. “There’s plenty of dessert to go around. Your buddy here was about to pull out some chocolate syrup.”
For some reason, Kent is keeping quiet. I glance over my shoulder at him, curious. He’s standing right in place, expressionless, like he’s waiting for something.
“Well?” prompts Adrian. “Wanna join us?”
I watch the impatient look on Rico’s face. I see a glint of power in Adrian’s eyes, though I’m not convinced it’s malicious or evil. And I feel a strange, almost indifferent energy from Kent, who still hasn’t said a word since that door opened.
I think he’s waiting for me to choose between them or him. He doesn’t even want to put up a fight.
That’s what makes my decision for me.
I glance at Adrian. “Have you heard your brother play guitar?”
That was probably the last thing Adrian was expecting me to ask. He can’t seem to answer, his mind probably working through why I would ask that.
Without a reply, I just shrug. “Well, I haven’t. And I’d like to. So …” I gesture at Rico. “Thanks for giving me the room last night. I should only return the favor. Enjoy your night with Adrian. Kent and I will leave you guys to it.” And with that—and despite Rico’s dumbfounded expression—I turn and head back to the elevators.
When the elevator door slides shut in front of us, a moment of contemplative silence passes. Neither of us say anything for a while, though there is an undeniable layer of tension in the air.
Then Kent says, “Did you just invite yourself over to my place?”
“Pretty much,” I confess.
Kent nods. “Smooth move.”
I glance at him. He seems to be lost staring at his own reflection in the shiny metallic back of the elevator door. “Are you alright?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know. Your brother. My friend. All of that … weirdness, or whatever happened back there.”
He shrugs. “Guess I’m used to my brother’s tricks. He’s full of them.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Kent peers at the floor, still looking oddly thoughtful. He doesn’t answer.
I lift an eyebrow. “Were you worried? Did you think I found their ‘proposition’ tempting?”
Now he looks at me. “Was it?”
I decide to be playful and give him a coy shrug. “Hmm. I’m not sure. I mean … whipped cream and chocolate did sound pretty tasty, though … I’m not sure I preferred what it was being served on.”
He cracks a smile. “You sound hungry.”
“Actually, I kinda am.”
He thinks it over for a moment. “Well, I can guarantee you my fridge is full of a whole lot of nothing, thanks to Skip being a human vacuum and my mom not knowing how to cook. So if we’re headed that way anyway, I think I’ve got a nice joint just down the street from my house you might like to try out. Only the locals go there.”
“Good.” I smile. “I kinda wasn’t ready for this night to end, anyway.”
He smiles back. “Me neither.”
A moment later, we’re back on his bike riding down Boardwalk Street. The colorful lights of the Quicksilver Strand whip past us as I cling to Kent. I can even see the Easy Breezy where our night began, standing brightly a little distance from the road, crowds of people all around it, laughing and flirting and having fun. I smile at them in wonder. For the first time, I think I don’t envy them.
I cling tighter to Kent.
He smells so fucking good, by the way.
“You doing alright back there?” he calls out.
I’m practically grinning with glee. “It’s hard to imagine being used to all of this. Bored of all of this. It’s magical out here, Kent.”
“What?”
“I said it’s magical out here!”
“What??”
I laugh. Why’d he ask me a question at all if he can’t hear me? “Nothing!” I squeeze onto him tighter, feeling his back side against my front. My hands are also hugging a particularly firm set of abs, which is a detail I can’t exactly ignore in this close of a proximity.
After rounding the corner onto Gould Street—where I happen to notice the prominent yet slightly seedy-looking El Amado club—we eventually arrive at his house, where he parks the bike. He takes the helmet back from me, hooks it onto his handlebar, then nods ahead. “Just a little bit down the street. We passed the place on the way here.”
The place turns out to be a cute establishment right off of Sugarberry Beach next to a long dock leading out to the water. Its weathered sign has a crescent shape painted blue and silver behind the words “Desert Moon Diner”. An outside area holds a modest number of wooden picnic tables with a line of quirky potted cacti of all shapes and sizes. Kent steps ahead and holds the door open for me. I give him an appreciative nod and enter. Inside, the place is brightly-lit and full of beach-themed decorations hanging all over the walls. We pass a small bar area where a few people are gathered on our way to a booth seat by the windows, which overlook Sugarberry Beach and the dark water. It isn’t much longer that we have menus in our hands, two generous and unabashed orders are put in, and then we have before us an assortment of appetizers, tasty fried goodies, and all sorts of delicious naughtiness.
