“You ready to meet everyone?” he asked as we were about to enter Let’s Fry This. The restaurant only did takeout, so we were going to eat at Symphony Park. The motel he was staying at was in downtown Las Vegas and around the corner from the park.
“Ready,” I said and followed him into the small space. There was hardly room to move, the inside packed full of customers. Landon took my hand, and we slowly waded through the crowd.
“Didn’t think you’d make it,” said the guy we stopped in front of.
“Told you we’d be here.”
“Mason said you met someone.”
Landon stepped to the side, and I waved. “Hey. I’m Kinsley.”
“You brought the girl?” the guy asked, disbelief in his voice. “And what the hell are you wearing?”
“It’s called a T-shirt. Now stop staring and move up in line. We’re next.” Landon looked around the restaurant. “Where’s Mason?”
“In the car. He got a call just as we pulled up.”
Landon pulled me into his side and pointed at his friend. “This charming asshole is Clay. And he usually has better manners.”
Clay tipped his chin up at me but didn’t look happy I was there. I wondered if I should make up an excuse and leave.
Landon seemed to have read my intentions, because he leaned down and whispered in my ear. “Ignore him. He’s just in a foul mood because we made him come to Vegas.”
Guess I could understand that one. Even though Vegas was growing on me.
We ordered our food, and after a brief wait, we were back outside.
“We’re over there,” Clay said, pointing to a black truck.
The guy from earlier was leaning against the side, watching our approach. He had short dark hair and was almost as wide and tall as Landon. I started to doubt my sanity. I didn’t know these guys, yet I was going to get in a car with them.
My newfound spontaneity took a nosedive into frigid cold water.What am I doing?
“Give me your wallet,” Landon said to Clay.
“What for?”
Landon speared him with a glare. “Just do it.”
Grumbling, Clay pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “You’re lucky Jameson said we couldn’t get in trouble this weekend or I’d show you how I feel about getting bossed around.”
“Not like you have any money in there anyway,” Landon joked.
“Hey, man, didn’t think you’d show up,” Mason said when we made it to the truck.
“I need your wallet,” Landon said, holding his hand out.
“Why?” Mason asked, frowning. “I know you brought your own wallet. What do you want with mine?”
“Driver’s license,” Landon said and started going through the wallets, including his own that he’d pulled out of his jeans.
He went to the truck bed and lined up the three licenses. Then he took a photo while we all watched with varying degrees of confusion.
“What’s your number, buttercup?” he asked me, phone in hand.
I was still puzzled by his behavior but told him. My phone vibrated in my purse shortly after.
“That’s all our driver’s licenses. Send it to a friend.”
