Page 53 of Wristlocked
“We’re actually looking for someone else tonight.” I show Heath the picture. “Seen him around?”
“Your brother?” Heath asks, and Gale nods. “Shame.” He shakes his head. “But yeah, he was in the Blue room earlier with Turner and his crowd.”
“Are you sure they left?” Gale asks.
“Yup. Sorry. But Lucy’s mom’s got a place off South Decatur they go to sometimes. Lucy is Turner’s girl,” he explains, as if Gale gives a shit about the Vegas junkie family tree.
“You got an address?” It’s a futile hope, and Heath shakes his head again.
“Somewhere near The Hot and Juicy. Lucy brings me takeout sometimes.”
The Hot and Juicy is a crawfish chain with a couple of locations scattered around downtown, but the one off Decatur is close to where my dad and stepmom lived their boring, white, middle-class life until they moved out to the suburbs. I’ve spent enough awkward weekends there to know the area.
“Thanks, Heath.”
“’Course. You take care of yourself, boy. Good luck with the search and rescue.”
I check the time when we climb back into the car. It’s after six, and the neighborhood is at least thirty minutes away in Friday traffic.
“I can keep looking if you need to get back,” I offer, not expecting him to agree. “I promise I won’t give up.”
“He’ll never go anywhere with you if I’m not there,” Gale says, jaw set and eyes on the road. I don’t push it.
“Do you want to text Gia and give her an update?”
“I already did.” When I shoot him a surprised look, his lips twitch in an almost smile.
“Don’t look so shocked, pretty boy,” he says with a hint of his usual scorn. “I’m not always an asshole.”
“You just play one on TV?” I scoff.
“No. I’m an asshole in real life. But I know how to recognize when someone is worthy of making an exception.”
“And Gia is a worthy exception?” I keep my voice light, but my hands tighten on the steering wheel, and I don’t look at him again.
“You would know,” he says without a trace of mockery. He’s shifted sideways in his seat, studying my profile.
“But the same doesn’t apply to her friends, I guess.” I think I’m holding my breath.
“Depends on the friend. Am I being an asshole now?”
“No,” I admit.
“I was skeptical when she said you were the one I needed to help me find Jamie. Especially when she wouldn’t tell me why. I thought maybe it was another excuse to get us alone together.”
“She wouldn’t do that.” I scowl. “Gia doesn’t manipulate people to get what she wants.”
A wry chuckle escapes him. “Are you deliberately forgetting the first time she got the three of us in a room together? Because I remember the whole fucking thing.” His voice goes husky on the last words, and I can’t help it—I glance over and let myself catch the raw lust in his eyes.
Jesus.
“Anyway,” he continues, “she was right.”
“About what?” I’ve lost the thread of the conversation.
“About tonight.” He turns back to the road as we turn into the neighborhood, and I breathe a little easier. “Does she know the whole story?”
“Not everything,” I admit. “Does she know yours?”
