Gluttony (11 page)

Still, she lay down on the table, as the waxer insisted, wearing only her bra and underwear and feeling strangely like she was at the doctor: chilly, exposed, vulnerable, and slightly bored.

The attendant approached carrying a long strip and a brush dripping with wax, then stared down at Miranda with disdain. “You’ll have to take those off,” she said.

“Take what off?” There wasn’t much to choose from. She pointed at her bra. “You mean …”

“No.” The attendant scowled, as if she had better things to do than waste her time with wax neophytes who didn’t know the dress code. She pointed down at Miranda’s pale blue bikini briefs. “You’re blocking my access.”

“But they’re bikini,” Miranda protested. “So it should be—”

“We do
Brazilian
waxes here,” the woman informed her. In the midst of her confusion, Miranda noted that the waxer could use some wax herself on her upper lip; she decided not to mention it.

“I don’t … is that some special type of …?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “We wax it all, honey. We leave you completely bare.”

“
Completely
… bare?” Miranda repeated, understanding dawning over her, swiftly followed by horror.

“Completely bare. Down there.”

And that’s when Miranda got the hell out.

“You guys have a fun ride?” Carl’s friend Esther gave her replacement a quick wave and laced her arms through Harper’s and Adam’s, leading them to the opposite end of the roof.

“I did,” Adam began, “but I think Harper—”

“It was great,” Harper cut in. “Thanks so much for the free ride. Adam was just—”

“Thought his name was Kane?” Esther cut in.

“It is,” Harper said quickly. “Adam’s just his middle name. I call him that to bug him. Uh … anyway, he was just telling me how grateful he was for the free ride. Weren’t you?” She glared at him, as if he was failing to get the message.

Which, apparently, he was, because Adam had no idea what he was supposed to say next. “Um, yeah, thanks. It was great.”

“Cool.” Esther pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She took one out, then tipped the pack toward Harper and Adam, who both shook their heads. Shrugging, she hunched over, trying to protect her lighter from the wind. “I hate it up here,” she complained. “It takes the whole damn break to light the thing up,” she complained.

“Adam can help you,” Harper said quickly.

I can?
Adam mouthed. Harper just grabbed the lighter and tossed it to him and, with luck, he got the flame lit and held it to Esther’s cigarette.

She leaned against the railing, tipped her head back, and sucked in one long drag, then another. Finally, she seemed to remember she wasn’t alone. “So, Carl sent you?” Esther asked. She gave Adam an appraising look, then grinned. “Lucky me.”

Adam had been off the dating market for a while, but he knew flirting when he saw it. Harper’s expression remained neutral, as if she hadn’t noticed—or didn’t care.

“So what can I do for you?” Esther asked.

Adam waited for Harper to speak, but when she didn’t, he stepped in. “Well, this is a little awkward, but—”

“Just tell her,” Harper said quickly. She gave Esther a half smile. “He can be a little shy, especially around cute girls.”

What?
Before he could say anything, Harper gave him the signal they’d used when they were kids whenever an intruder had walked in on one of their clubhouse meetings (membership was exclusive, limited to Harper and Adam). She made a fist with her right hand and, tucking her fingers under her chin, pressed her thumb to her lips. Meaning:
Shut the hell up. Now
.

Esther fluffed her hair out and tipped her head to one side. “So you think I’m cute?” She ran her hand lightly across Adam’s bicep. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

Adam got the plan: Flirt with her, charm her, then get the tickets out of her. And given Esther’s long, tan legs peeking out from beneath her short sundress, her pert nose, big brown eyes, and full lips, the mission shouldn’t have been much of a burden.

But it still felt like one. Not because he wasn’t attracted to her, and not because he felt guilty—just because he didn’t feel like flirting.

He would do it, anyway, for Harper.

“Esther’s a great name,” he said, the best he could come up with on short notice. “It’s unusual. But really pretty.”

She shrugged. “It’s my grandmother’s,” she said. “Most of my friends call me Estie.”

Adam flashed a grin. “Okay,
Estie
. So, say I just got into town and I’m looking for something fun to do—any recommendations?”

“Why recommend when I could show?” she asked, stepping forward and looping an arm around Adam’s shoulder. “Where should we go first?”

“Uh, don’t you have to work?” Harper asked, sounding a little cranky.

“I can switch shifts,” Estie said. “It’s not every day that a guy this cute walks into my life.” She tousled Adam’s hair, and he squirmed away. “Aw, he is shy, just like you said. So adorable!”

“Yeah. Adorable,” Harper muttered. “The thing is, we’ve got stuff to do—”

“We’re on vacation,” Adam pointed out. “We’ve got plenty of time. So, Estie, where shall we go?”

“The gondola rides at the Venetian are über-romantic,” she told him, then frowned at Harper. “They only seat two, though, so you should probably stay here. It was nice to meet you, though. Come on, Adam—Kane—whoever you are.”

Estie grabbed Adam’s hand and began tugging him toward the elevator doors. He gave Harper a helpless look, then followed.

Harper didn’t look in the mood to help; she looked in the mood to attack. “No!” Estie and Adam froze. “He can’t go with you.”

“He can’t?”

“I can’t?”

“And why not?” Estie asked.

“Because he’s—we’re—he was just—you just can’t,” she sputtered, slapping the railing for emphasis. “Just tell her you have to
go
.”

Estie burst into laughter. “That took longer than I thought,” she exclaimed.

“What?” Harper and Adam asked together, completely confused.

“Carl called me to tell me you guys were coming over here, and that you were looking for Crash Burners tickets,” Estie admitted. “Trying to flirt them out of me?” She shook her head at Adam. “That’s low.”

Harper sagged back against the railing, looking half relieved and half humiliated. Adam was still just confused. “How did you know that’s what I was trying to do?” His flirting skills had never let him down in the past—but maybe it
wasn’t
like riding a bicycle, after all.

“Come on, you guys are obviously together.”

Adam and Harper just looked at each other, then back at Estie. “Us?” Adam asked incredulously. “Did Carl tell you that?”

“No, it’s just obvious,” Estie said. “You are, aren’t you?”

Adam wondered which part of the hostile, nonstop bickering, no-touching interactions between him and Harper could have screamed “relationship.”

“Definitely not,” he said firmly. “No way.”

“Seriously?” Estie looked back and forth between the two of them. “Well, then, you should be.”

Adam laughed—and then, too late, caught the look on Harper’s face. He wanted to apologize; he hadn’t been laughing at the idea of the two of them together. It was just the whole awkward, painful, utterly ridiculous situation. But he couldn’t say any of that in front of a stranger. And even if he’d been alone, he suspected he couldn’t have explained it, anyway. He wouldn’t have known how.

“Man, I was so sure there was something between you guys,” Estie said.

Harper looked over the railing, out at the sprawling strip of lights and people far beneath them. “Trust me,” she said in a flat voice. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“That’s my final offer,” Kane said firmly. “Take it or—”

“I’ll take it.” Jackson, who’d proved a shrewder negotiator than Kane had expected, extended his hand, then whipped it away again just as Kane was about to shake. “On one condition.”

“Try me.” The price was right, the wrappers were flawless, and there was no way Kane was going to screw up his first big deal.

“Hook me up with your hot, blond friend.”

Kane let out a whoosh of air. He wanted to say yes. He would have
loved
to say yes, for more reasons than one. But …

“No can do.” Kane slumped down on one of the lobby chairs. “In case you didn’t notice, she hates me.”

Jackson nodded and raised his eyebrows. “That’s what made her so hot. Spicy food and spicy women—that’s what it’s all about, am I right?”

Being so close to a black hole of classlessness made Kane’s skin crawl. But his facade—smooth, polite, mildly bored, and immune to shock—was well worn and impossible to shake. “You know it,” he agreed, baring his teeth in the imitation of a smile. “But Beth’s about as spicy as vanilla pudding. You wouldn’t be interested. Trust me.”

“And you know this because …?”

“Let’s just say, been there, done that.” Kane winced at the sleaze, but pushed on. “If you know what I mean.”

“Really?” Jackson’s eyes widened, and he held out his palm for Kane to slap.
“Nice.”

“Not really,” Kane said wryly. “So do we have a deal?”

“I don’t know.” Jackson laced his fingers together and stretched his arms out in front of him, a yawn contorting his face. “I was really counting on Barbie to sweeten the pot. Now, I don’t know …”

“Wait. You say you like bitter, argumentative girls?” He was getting an idea. He didn’t much like it, but that didn’t keep him from recognizing its genius.

“You know it,” Jackson said eagerly, leaning forward. “You got someone else?”

“How do you feel about sarcasm?”

“Love it.”

“How about pessimism?” Kane continued.

“Hot.”

“Insults? Arguments? The burning need to always get the last word?”

Jackson rubbed his palms together. “Bring it on. So what’s she look like?”

Kane wasn’t the type to grapple with indecision. He usually knocked it out in a single punch and vaulted right over it. But this time, something made him pause, at least for a moment.

But it was no more than that.

“Well, let me ask you this,” he finally said, a plan coalescing. “How do you feel about redheads?”

“Excrement.”

“Simply awful.”

“The worst I’ve ever seen.”

“You should sue your guitar teacher for criminal incompetence.”

Beth cringed at every word out of the judges’ mouths. Reed, Fish, and Hale, on the other hand, stood lined up at the edge of the stage, taking it all without a single change in facial expression. Beth knew that, were she up there, listening to a panel of so-called experts bash her talent and smash her dreams, she’d be a wreck. In tears, inconsolable; but Reed looked as if he was barely listening, and the other two followed his cue.

The All-American Band Battle had introduced a new judging tactic this year—if you could call a total rip-off of a played-out reality TV show “new.” The organizers had assembled a team of experts—the Gee Whiz Kids, a pop foursome with pseudo-indie cred and a cult following, in town to open for the Crash Burners—and given them free reign to bash the bands in front of the audience. Beth had been watching for an hour and she had yet to see the panel give anyone a thumbs up. That said, she’d also not seen a single band come in for the beating that the Blind Monkeys were taking. Not even close.