Like he was surprised – and pleased – all over again, to see her. Like on the deck, pre-cheeky wink.
Not even trying to play it cool.
His eyebrows raised above stylish hornrims – had he been wearing glasses this whole time? – and he blurted, “You’re back!”
“And you’re still here,” she teased him. Nodding to the perfectly intact kugel ravioli.
“With some serious willpower.”
“I’ve had my two, that one’s yours. Otherwise, I’d owe you again. We’d be stuck in this vicious circle of you being awesome, and me having to wait a year to…”
She speared the crispy golden ravioli, rotating the fork tantalizingly. “…to come to my rescue?”
Max’s eyes were no longer trailing the ravioli, but were trained on her mouth. “Something like that.”
His chuckle was warm and deep. And the latkes she had just demolished felt like they were re-assembling themselves so they could flip over in her belly.
“Well, you know what they say about vicious circles…”
“They’re only vicious until you break the first cog in the wheel.”
Wow. So Max was a Vanta Blackmore fan. Able to finish her sentence and quote one of her sister’s more famous taglines without blinking an eye. No wonder he was acting so chummy. Every guy wanted to have a kick-ass, lethal weapon-toting side-piece like Vanta to pal around with. Roll in the sheets with. Save the universe with.
Enamored with the illusion.
And Tzipi herself was just a watered-down imitation tonight.
Oh, you jerk. Quoting a movie line to the actual actor who said it? So uncool. It was up there with Chris Farley’s famous “that was awesome” bit – same level of awkwardness, with none of the hilarity.
Luckily, Kara’s attention was pulled elsewhere. That, or she chose to politely ignore his fanboy outburst.
“Where is everyone hurrying off to?”
“I’m guessing either someone fell overboard…or it’s time for the menorah lighting.” Jonah stabbed at the rocks in his glass with his stirrer. “Given that our people are big on tradition, I’m gonna venture it’s the latter.”
Especially as the ladder was being rolled out.
Shit, he had been so wrapped up in Kara, he had completely lost all sense of time. That meant Jay and his mic were not far behind. And expected his OG Baller crew to be front and center for the official kickoff of the night.
“Oh! Oh yeah, that tracks.”
He offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Kara craned her neck, a look of uncertainty on her face.
It occurred to him she’d probably never ventured into “gen pop,” as Avi liked to call it, to get a close enough look. Even the VIP deck got too crowded with B-listers for someone of Kara’s stature.
Sylvie sprang to mind. His photographer friend was always finding spots on the boat with unobstructed views. A place to watch, but not be watched by those below. Two years ago, she’d found one such perch to take an amazing stealth photo from high above of the rest of them, gathered around the menorah.
“I actually know a spot, this way. Follow me.”
Miraculously, Kara did. Down the walkway on the starboard side, up a short flight of stairs, until they hit a crowd that was churning sideways like a school of fish toward the sound of an amplified voice. Then he tucked her in front of him, steering with the push of his broad shoulder so they could get to stairwell that led to the captain’s bridge.
She was tantalizingly close. Her hair tickled against his chin as they maneuvered, its botanical scent daring him to bury his nose in it. “Off limits,” she proclaimed, and for a moment he thought she was scolding him. Until he realized she was pointing toward the sign that hung on a heavy chain across a door, barring access to the command deck.
“Not for us.”
Well, me. Luckily, Jay’s hierarchy of wristbands ensured his closest friends could move freely anywhere on the ship, simply by flashing their black fabric RFID bands. Gone were the days of sticky paper bracelets and rubber stamps to the back of the hand. Technology for crowd control, just like the Baller each year, had grown more sophisticated.
