The second light is the intersection of Mill Street and Key Boulevard. My throat goes dry. This is not a part of town I come to very often. Or ever, really. We stop in front of a bar called Kicks. Pounding music thumps behind the door. If I thought Wench was tacky, this place is flat-out seedy. Darkened windows. A poster promisingGirls Every Night!
Also, the name is a shortened version of the wordsidekicks. It was well known at SPAM that Kicks was a popular spot for low-level criminals in town. If you needed information about someone’s dastardly plan or to start working relationships with informants, Kickswas where you went.
Not that I ever did. When I went to work at SPAM, they immediately saw that my strengths lay in administration. Ideally in ways that didn’t involve talking to people.
Still, if anyone inside gets even a whiff that I worked at SPAM—or worse, finds out who my mother was—we’re in big trouble.
Speaking of which, it appears that even after so many first dates, even Jasper doesn’t know any of those details either. Or at least he hasn’t mentioned them. Probably better to not let him in on those little tidbits until I’m more certain he isn’t going to drag me into the bar’s back freezer and leave me there until Mr. Wolfe is ready to speak with me or whatever.
The street is illuminated by the glowing Kicks sign. Something shaped like a large rat scurries across the sidewalk. I sigh as I watch from behind the steering wheel. “I guess the upside to living the same day over and over is I don’t need to worry about a rabies shot.”
Jasper shoots me a look. “You’re not going to be weird here, right?”
Suddenly he doesn’t want my help?
“What do you mean by weird?”
He shifts uneasily, looking out at the bar. “You’re kind of... fussy. You know that, right? If you look at everyone in there like you’re better than them, no one will tell us anything.”
My mouth drops open. I have to remind myself he thinks I’m a lab nerd who has no idea where he’s taken us. In fact, I can use his worry to my advantage. Let him think I’m exactly who he believes me to be.
“Fussy?” I ask, making the very suggestion sound offensive. “That’s pretty judgy, considering we just met.”
He holds up his hands between us, counting off the fingers in multiple rounds. “Sixty dates, remember? I know a lot more than you think.”
Fear ripples down my spine.
Where’s a bus to step in front of when you need it?
I wave him off as I undo my seat belt and open the door. “I’ll be fine. There’s sanitizer in the glove compartment. I’ll bathe in it when we get back.”
The second we walk inside Kicks, it’s like a scene from an old Western movie. Heads turn, and everyone might as well be peering out from under the brim of a black cowboy hat for all they appear to be having a good time. Even the music seems to get quiet for a second.
But if my chosen cover story is a nervous nerd out of his depth, Jasper puts on this cloak of sunny confidence that means he walks assuredly through the room, though he doesn’t make eye contact with a single person as we go. I make eye contact with lots. None look friendly. A few narrow their eyes. One goes so far as to crack his knuckles.
“Nice place,” I say as a man with a face tattoo of a knife runs his thumb over his throat.
If Jasper hears me, he doesn’t reply. He takes a seat at an open table near the back and flags down a server. He orders a beer and a plate of nachos, then looks expectantly at me.
“Soda water. Two lime wedges.”
“Oh, come on,” he says, sighing heavily.
“What? I have a lot of allergies, and E. coli is an equal-opportunity pathogen. You can’t tell me the health inspector has been here recently.”
Jasper pinches the bridge of his nose, so I drive the point home by smiling up at the server and saying, “Wedge salad. Hold the blue cheese. I’m allergic to that too.”
“We don’t have a wedge salad,” the server says, looking confused. “Or any kind of salad.”
Jasper’s toe finds my shin under the table. I gasp.
“We’ll share the nachos,” he says. The server looks like he’s going to forget our order before he ever gets back to the kitchen.
“You didn’t have to kick me,” I say, making sure to pout.
“What did I tell you about not standing out?” His jaw is tense, and he may not be aware of the way his knee is bouncing nervously as he surveys the room.
I lean into Fussy Morgan even harder. “Why are you being so bossy?”
