A message pops up.
You’ve won round one of three. Your next round starts in fifteen minutes.
What? How come I have to sing again? This must be a scam.
I just won, but clearly it was an elimination round, which means I’m still in the running for the money. Money I could seriously use.
My gaze cuts back to the door. I better get inside because I would hate for Stallone to get the wrong idea and think I’m rude. Plus, I only have fifteen minutes before I have to sing again. I’m so close to winning this thing, there is no way I’m quitting now.
I can almost taste this victory.
eleven
Stallone
The waiter brings our food, but El hasn’t returned to her seat. Clearing my throat, I check behind me at the back door again. She had looked like she was about to be ill. I hated to let her run off alone, but she also looked embarrassed.
Should I check on her?
She was fine when I picked her up. I hope it’s not something I said.
Oh wait.
She got sick right after I told her my age.
That has to be it.
She doesn’t want to be here with an old man.
I grossed her out.
My gaze slides to the table, and a knot bulges in my throat. I had no idea she wasthatyoung. It’s so hard to tell these days how old women are. Maybe I should apologize and take her home?
She flies around the corner, bringing a gush of cold air in with her, plopping back down into the booth with an enormous smile on her face. “Good, the food’s here.”
Her porcelain cheeks are tinted with rose, which is normal for just coming inside from the winter air. She looks fine now. Relief floods back over me, and I take my napkin and set it on my lap. “Yeah, you’re just in time. Are you feeling better?”
“Much better.” She picks up her soup spoon and scoops giant spoonfuls into her mouth in a very rushed manner.
“Isn’t it hot to eat that fast?” I lower one eye and narrow my focus. Her eating pattern is a tad strange. I would have thought she’d eat in a more ladylike fashion, but I guess I’m no one to judge.
“I’m so hungry.” She pauses and smiles at me before she hovers her face directly over her bowl and shovels in full spoons of soup.
Taking my fork and knife in my hand, I remember my manners as I carefully cut my steak. “Do you want a straw? It might be even faster.” I risk a joke because I’ve never seen anyone eat like that.
She giggles, but still doesn’t slow. Now, she’s at the bottom of her bowl, and she drags her spoon along the bottom, scraping every last drop. “It was delicious.” She sits back in her seat; a victorious expression washes over her face while she dabs the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Best soup ever. Thanks for bringing me here.”
I barely have my meat cut, and her gaze cuts to the front exit like she’s waiting to leave. I motion to my full plate. “Are you in a hurry, or do you mind if I eat?”
“Oh.” Her brows spring up. “Go right ahead and finish, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to use the restroom.”
Before I protest, she takes off through the dining room toward the front foyer where the restrooms are, and I stare after her.
Maybe she really is sick but is too embarrassed to say?
Or is she too humiliated to sit next to me because I’m so old?
My gaze drops to my steak again. It looked so juicy and mouthwatering when the waiter brought it over. It’s served on an iron skillet and was literally sizzling, wafting off Cajun spices. It took every ounce of strength I had to wait until El was back before I cut into it. Now my stomach is in a knot, my appetite is gone.
