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After getting his agreement for me to use the cabin, I returned to Moe’s Diner to find Cassius sitting at the bar spouting facts back and forth with Luce.
The moment I saw her, I knew that today was an off day for her.
She’d woken up in a good mood, but it was very obvious that happy had evaporated as the day had gone by. And Cassius had seen that happy evaporate, which was why he was entertaining her with useless facts.
“Prisoners in Paris were offered freedom if they married prostitutes and moved to Louisiana,” Cassius said.
“That’s such a lie,” Luce said quietly, trying not to raise her voice so her customers would hear.
There were eight of them in various booths and sat at tables throughout the diner. But there was only one older man close enough to overhear if they spoke too loudly.
“It’s the truth,” Cassius said. “Truth or lie. Before alarm clocks were invented, there was a profession called a knocker-up. It involved going from client to client and tapping on their windows with long sticks until they woke up.”
“Truth?” Luce guessed.
“Truth,” Cassius confirmed. “Manatees have one nipple behind each flipper. Young calves nurse in their mothers’ armpits.”
That got Luce shaking her head. “Not true.”
“It’s true.” Cassius didn’t smile, but it was close. “They have nipples behind their pectoral flippers.”
“A single spaghetti noodle is called a ‘spaghetto,’” I heard myself say.
Both of them turned to look at me.
I grinned.
They’d been so caught up in their discussion of truth or false that they hadn’t realized I’d even come inside.
I narrowed my eyes at Cassius who looked a bit sheepish.
“If it helps any,” he said as he twisted on his barstool. “I get my gauge off of Shawna there. She didn’t freak out when anyone came in, so I assumed it was another friendly.”
I shook my head and continued to the counter to take the stool next to Cassius.
Cassius twisted so that he wasn’t straddling the seat, then asked, “Did you find anything on her?”
I sighed. “Fuck, no. Not a damn thing. I skipped work for a bunch of nothin’.”
“You skipped work to help keep me safe.” Luce batted her eyelashes at me sweetly. “And I adore you for it.”
I winked at her, causing color to rise to her cheeks.
I eyed her as she shifted from foot to foot, wondering what had caused her to color so beautifully.
I flexed my hands on the bar top and her eyes went there, once again her cheeks coloring prettily.
“I skipped work to help keep you safe,” I agreed, testing a theory as I reached for a straw in the jar behind the bar. “But keeping you safe is kinda fuckin’ hard when I can’t find what it is that’s making you unsafe in the first place.”
She watched as my fingers ripped the straw paper off.
The moment I had the wrapper off, I rolled it into a ball between the fingers of my left hand. With the fingers from my right, I rolled the straw back and forth between two fingers and my thumb.
Her eyes watched me move the straw forward and backward, glazing slightly.
That’s when I looked down and saw all the muscles playing along my forearm, causing my tattoos to undulate with the movement.
Ten years ago, I had untarnished skin. But when I’d gotten into the military, the idea of getting a tattoo had been the popular thing to do among the guys. And once the tattoo needle had touched my flesh for the first time, I’d been a goner.
From then on, I’d completely filled up both forearms with tattoos that were as random as the weather.
I had a cherry blossom tree, a noose hanging a transmission from it, and those were just the two biggest ones on my left forearm. Randomly interspersed was a tattoo from my adventures. A goat that I’d gotten while in Vietnam. An orange that I’d gotten in Italy. A sunflower I’d gotten in Iraq.
Hell, the randomness went on and on, but one thing held true. I had colorful tattoos. And lots of them.
Though I’d known that Luce had liked them—she asked the meaning behind each new one every time she saw me over the years—she hadn’t given me this particular look before.
The one that said she’d like to rub herself all over my tattoos. Tits first.
What the hell was up with her?
“Luce?” I asked, garnering her attention.
She looked from my forearms to me, rapidly blinking her eyes to clear away her fogginess. “Yeah?”
“You okay?” I wondered.
She snatched up a towel that she’d been using to wipe down wet coffee cups, then went back to work as she said, “Just fine.”
“Good,” I teased. “If you need anything, you’ll let me know?”
“Uh-huh,” she replied as she wiped vigorously at the already clean countertop.
“You got it clean, darlin’,” I said as I caught the rag she was violently rubbing against the counter, stilling her with my palm on her. “Babe, are you sure you’re okay?”
