6 All the Young Dudes #2
A devilish smile curves his perfect lips. “Everyone but you, then.”
The dig doesn’t bother me as much as it should. “My grandma would probably know that.”
No response.
“My mom loved Bowie.” I barely get the words out, the simple sentence nearly gutting me in the process. I turn to the window and take several short, steady breaths to keep from crumbling.
Across from me, the beautiful troublemaker lifts his head and studies me, a furrow forming between his dark brows. “Mine, too. She cried the day he died.”
Tears clog my throat, and I manage a weak nod, barely holding myself together.
Unaware of my fragile emotional state, T. J. bounds to the table and flicks his gaze toward Travis before dialing up his smile. “You ready?”
“Almost. I need to pay my check.” I pull three crumpled dollar bills from my pocket.
T. J. raises his hand, his grin wolfish. “I got you covered.”
“No, really. I have money.” Against my will, my eyes are drawn to Travis as I reach under the table for my tote. I place Mom’s ashes on the seat next to me while I dig for my wallet.
“Oh, hey. Nice, uh ... martini shaker?” With a nervous laugh, T. J. juts his chin toward the urn.
Travis shakes his head. “It’s an urn, dumbass.”
My blind search comes up empty, so I lay Mom’s diary beside her ashes and tip the bag upside down, spilling the contents onto the table. “It has to be here.”
Fear blooms in the pit of my stomach as I dig through the assorted candy wrappers and juice boxes, tubes of cherry lip gloss and blackest black mascara, several stray M & M’S, a travel-size deodorant, toothbrush and toothpaste, a bunch of loose change, the keys to the Betty, Jeanie’s AAA card and her handwritten list of safe places to stay, a hairbrush, three tampons, and G-Lo’s striped anti-rape panties.
But no wallet.
My cheeks burn as I shove the underwear and tampons back into the tote and pick through the rest as if my wallet will suddenly appear out of nowhere. “I know I grabbed it before I left.” Did I leave it in the car? God, maybe something living in the Betty’s back seat ate it.
“T. J.! You forgot to clock out, again,” the guy from the kitchen shouts.
“Hold on to your hat, Rob!”
Rob pokes his head out of the back. “Becky’s here.”
T. J. groans. “Aw, shit.”
An older woman with faded red-orange hair strolls out of the kitchen wearing a crisp white apron over her pink uniform and a pair of green rubber gloves up to her elbows.
“Travis James Masterson, I don’t pay you to flirt.
Get in here and clock out before I call your mama and tell her I fired you again! ”
The breath in my lungs freezes, and I lift my head in slow motion.
Missing wallet momentarily forgotten, I gape from one Travis to the other and clear my throat.
Instead of words, incoherent nonsense sputters past my lips.
I try again, this time focusing my attention on my waiter.
“ You’re Travis? I-I thought you were ..
. and he ...” I dart my eyes toward the man I thought was Travis.
“My friends call me T. J.” He shrugs, oblivious to the gears frantically turning in my head as he backs toward the kitchen. “Be right back. And don’t worry about your food. I got it covered.”
While the real Travis disappears behind the counter, the fake one throws back his head and explodes with laughter.
“You thought I was ...” Not -Travis cackles so hard, air wheezes in and out of his lungs.
Horrified by the dawning realization, I nod.
“And Mandy warned you to steer clear of Travis, right?”
My head buzzes as I search the room in a daze. “Mandy?”
“The lady with the baby?”
I nod again. “I saw her by the bathroom earlier.”
Another bark of laughter. “I knew it! They’re related— somhow .
I haven’t figured that out yet, but she was bitching up a storm when I got here.
Spilled all the dirty deets about Travis James Masterson.
” He pulls a napkin from the holder and a pen from his back pocket and then furiously scribbles words I don’t bother to decipher.
As if invoking his name conjures him from the back, Travis—a.k.a. T. J.—strolls to the booth with a big smile. “Okay. All set. Ready to roll?”
“No.” I blurt the word.
“Awesome!” T. J. does a slow double take. “Wait. What?”
“I think ...” I shoot daggers at the-stranger-formerly-known-as-Travis, also known as Clark Kent.
Clark shoves his ink-covered napkin into his pocket, trying and failing to hold himself together.
I blow out a breath. “I should stay here.”
T. J.’s eyebrows form a deep V as he studies Clark, still snickering in the seat across from me. “Did I miss something?”
My attention drifts to the contents of my tote scattered across the table, and suddenly T. J. is the least of my worries. “I can’t do this. I don’t know what I was ... I guess I wasn’t thinking at all, was I?”
“I see.” Arms folded across his chest, T. J.’s gaze drifts from Clark to my stuff before settling on my face. He nods, eyes tight, smile stiff. “Well played. I’m, uh, gonna take off. You’re welcome for dinner.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I call after him as he storms out of the diner.
With T. J. gone, the fog slowly lifts, leaving anger in its wake. Whether he deserves it or not, I direct the venom toward Clark. “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t him ?”
“What?” He chokes on a chuckle. “How was I supposed to know you thought I was? You never said anything.”
“Why would I?” I snap.
Despite my glorious display of fury, he laughs again. “Is that why you’ve been mean mugging me since you sat down?”
“I thought you were someone else! But that doesn’t explain why you were giving me nasty looks. I didn’t do anything.”
His laughter dies down, every trace of humor fading from his expression. “I figured you were another empty-headed idiot willing to ignore Mandy’s warning.”
“Well, I’m not.”
His lips twitch. “Good to know.”
The T. J. situation behind me, I shove my stuff back into my tote, trying to remember the last time I saw my wallet. A sudden memory of white teeth and green marble turns my stomach as the puzzle pieces fall into place. I am an idiot. But not for the reason Clark thinks.
“That slick sonofabitch took my wallet!”
Clark’s head snaps up from his book. “Travis? I would’ve seen—”
“Not him.” I wave my hand. “Junior.”
Clark scans the room. “Who’s Junior?”
“A guy I met in Cleveland. He must’ve lifted my wallet while I was spreading my mom’s ashes. Damn it!” Exhaling a loud breath, I slump against the bench. Jeanie was right. I have no business making this trip alone. “I’m so stupid.”
“I’m sure you’re not—”
“I am. My sister tried to tell me.” Determined not to cry in front of a stranger, I fold my arms across the table and press my face into the center. I should’ve known I couldn’t manage a cross-country trip by myself. Everyone else did. I may as well be a kid playing dress-up.
G-Lo has faith in you.
G-Lo was wrong.