“You . . . you were in deep thought and then your face lit up like something good crossed your mind. What was it? Share it with me.”
Jackie bit her lip. “I was reliving all the times I outmaneuvered you in chess.”
“You lie like a rug.”
“I swear!” she said and giggled.
“I don’t believe you. I think you were thinking about me—us—making sweet love.”
Jackie’s face turned beet red. She placed both hands over her face and shook her head vigorously. “That’s not true!”
Kid stopped his wheelchair and removed her hands from her face. “It’s what I think about . . .”
Jackie leaned in and she kissed his soft lips. He slid his tongue into her mouth and they deeply connected. He wanted her, and she could feel how much as she sat on his lap. Kid pulled back first; he had to control his emotions. She was the enemy.
The next couple blocks they were silent. Kid noticed at least two unmarked cars continuously passing them, which irked him.
“We’re here,” he announced proudly.
“Chipotle?”
“My favorite spot. And don’t worry, you can order from the left side of the menu.”
Jackie hopped off and helped wheel Kid into the restaurant. They ordered and sat down to eat. Occasionally Kid would see her make eye contact with an unidentified white male.
“Tell me about yourself,” she finally asked.
“Me? Not much to tell.”
“Well, you can either tell me something or we’ll eat in silence. Not much of a date, right?”
He smiled.
“Did I say something funny?”
“You said date as if you were looking forward to it.”
“Maybe I was, but right now I’m bored.”
“Ouch. Ok, well, don’t forget that you asked.”
Jackie adjusted her posture to signal that he had her full attention. Kid told her everything he was sure she knew about him, leaving out any details that could land him in jail. He went into detail about being adopted, his bike accident with Kip, therapy, his brother getting murdered, and then his Nana passing away shortly thereafter.
“I thought that I wouldn’t have anyone after Kip and Nana died, but his friends stepped in and helped me get through the loss.” Kid readjusted his wire-rimmed glasses.
“That must have been tough. So, who murdered him?”
Kid played along. “Can you keep a secret?”
“A secret? Who would I tell? My parents? Please. I hate them.”
Kid looked around as if he was afraid of someone overhearing. He could tell he had on her the edge of her chair. “My brother was overprotective of me since the accident, so he never confided in me what he did for a living, but I knew it wasn’t legit. While I was hustling, he was too.”
“You hustle drugs?” she asked, wide-eyed and innocent.
He chuckled and looked down at his legs. “I’m flattered, but no. Chess. I made money playing for money. One day my brother confided in me that a very dangerous person wanted him to do something major—like real big—something that could hurt a lot of people. When he refused, that person threatened my life. I was terrified . . .” Kid put his head down.
“Go on,” she coaxed.