Page 63 of Secondhand Smoke
She nodded, and they broke apart. His arm fell from her as she stepped away. He wasn’t sure which of them did it first.
“Do you think they’re okay?” she asked, and it took Barrett a few seconds to remember who “they” were. Then he remembered what had driven them there in the first place.
See, there she went, distracting him again.
He looked around as if his friends would pop out again and proclaim themselves free men. “Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time. They know what they’re doing.”
She smiled up at him. “I believe you.”
Barrett couldn’t get enough. Her head, tilted back to look up at him, seemed a small but precious gift. How many people could claim this second in time?
Only him.
He was the lucky bastard who got Janelle Duncan right there in that single moment.
Now that he thought about it, he was racking up a hell of a lot of lucky moments these days.
24 - Barrett
“You reek of pot.”
“You look sixty years old,” Barrett snapped back at his uncle, who barely flinched at the half-hearted jab. Barrett grabbed a bowl from the counter, plopped onto one of the kitchen stools next to Ron, and grabbed the awaiting OJ’s cereal box.
“Keep that up, and you’ll look the same at my age,” Ron said as Barrett shoveled a large spoonful into his mouth.
“Why would I want anything less? You’re the picture of perfection.”
“Har, har.” Ron shook his head. Even though he liked to play disinterested, Ron was terrible at hiding his subtle glances from Barrett, who could feel the tingling of eyes on his face. “You’re lively for 9 a.m..”
Barrett smiled and downed another bite. “I’m in a good mood.”
“Any particular reason?”
Barrett set down his spoon and stretched his arms overhead, cradling the back of his head in his laced fingers. “Just been a good few weeks. Speaking of which . . .” Barrett stood up, remembering something he’d been waiting for until he saw Ron outside of his ever-changing work schedule. “I’ve got something for you.”
He left his uncle sitting at the counter so he could rush back into his room and shuffle through his drawer until he found aspecific bundle of cash among a few others. He returned with it in hand.
Ron frowned. “Business must be going well for you.”
“So-so.” Barrett grinned, proud to say it. “But this has nothing to do with that. This stack isentirelymy cut of two gigs in Bellevue.”
He’d received his portion of the payment right after their second show, and when he saw how much it was, his eyes had bugged from his head. Ricky said they were paid a generous base rate plus a percentage of what was made at the bar. Ricky must not have been kidding when he said that they’d brought in the best crowd in ages if the wad in Barrett’s hand had anything to do with it.
It was more than three times what they made at The Pour House.
Barrett caught the near imperceptible flinch of Ron’s surprised brow as the news sank in. “Two nights?”
“Two nights.”
“Goddamn.”
Barrett shook it until Ron picked it up. “Take a few days off from work. Get some youth back into your complexion.”
“I can’t take this.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“You worked hard for this.”
