I…” He gestured to the room beyond the rabbi.
The guy raised his brows, then gestured for Kicks to come in. The room smelled rank—like old booze and a faint undercurrent of piss and meth smoke. The tang of it stung his nostrils, and he swiped a hand over his face before turning to the guy.
“Sorry, I was just stepping out of the shower. Eliah told me to expect you quite a bit later than this.” His accent was very prim, his voice was surprisingly soft, with a hint of deep-chested rumble and authority like he was used to commanding people.
The thought of that made Kicks’ stomach twist in ways he hadn’t expected, but it was quickly overrun by how desperately he wanted to get the fuck out of that room. “Yeah, well. Here I am. You ready to go?”
The guy blinked at him, then rolled his eyes, which seemed very non-religious-leader of him. “I suppose I’ve not much choice in the matter. Give me a second to grab my things.” He gestured to a suitcase, and Kicks snorted a laugh.
“Yeah, uh. That shit ain’t coming with us.” He glanced around and spied a plastic bag from Publix on the table. “Throw what you can in there.”
The man let out an incredulous laugh. “I don’t think so. My brother told me to pack a bag…”
“A bag, not a fuckin’ suitcase. This ain’t a vacation,” Kicks corrected, feeling his irritation crawling up his spine. When the man didn’t budge from his spot, Kicks curled his hands into fists. “We don’t got time for this shit right now, okay? Just take what you need so we can get the fuck on the road.”
He let out a small scoff and marched to the bed, flinging the top of the suitcase open. “Trust Eliah to send such a fucking wanker…”
“What’s a wanker?” Kicks asked, watching with a narrowed eye.
The guy looked up at him, and the corners of his mouth lifted before he raised his hand and made a motion like he was jerking off. “I think you can infer it’s not a compliment.”
Kicks dragged a hand down his face with a soft groan. “Look, man, I’m doing this as a goddamn favor. It wasn’t exactly on my agenda to drive to some shithole motel and pick up some asshole stranger whose name I don’t even know.”
The man let out a soft sigh, then crossed over to Kicks and surprised the fuck out of him by extending his hand. “My name is Yehuda Burns. Pleasure to meet you.”
So stunned by the random, polite gesture, Kicks took his hand. His tongue felt oddly thick in his mouth at the feel of the man’s soft palm against his own, and he swallowed past it. He couldn’t remember the last time someone offered to shake his damn hand. “Uh, Kicks.”
“Kicks. Like Cher? Like Madonna?” Yehuda asked, and Kicks scowled.
“Fuck you, man. What the fuck kind of name is Yehuda?”
With a laugh, Yehuda dragged his hand away. “You can call me Jude if it’s easier. Most people do.” He went back to the suitcase and began to pick through it until he had a small pile of clothes and what looked like a toiletries bag.
“You know, you don’t look like a rabbi,” Kicks said as he watched him open the Publix bag and shove everything inside.
Jude looked over his shoulder and lifted a brow. “Authority on that, are you? Tell me, Kicks, what does a rabbi look like?”
“I don’t know,” Kicks said, feeling both humiliated and irritated. “Like a priest but Jewish?”
Jude’s eyes went wide, then he laughed again—this time louder, his whole body moving with it. “Bloody hell. I don’t imagine you’re particularly religious.”
Kicks ground his teeth together. He wasn’t, but he hated when people generalized him like that.
“Well, to be clear, I’m the jeans and t-shirt sort of rabbi. Especially when I’m stuck in some shithole motel on the side of the road waiting for some asshole stranger,” he slipped into a mocking American accent, “to pick me up because my brother went and got himself almost murdered.” He hooked the bag over his wrist, and in spite of his tone, he offered a smile to Kicks, which made his entire face light up. Kicks felt something entirely unfamiliar burning in his gut, and he did his best to shove it away.
Was this the shit Smokey had to deal with when he’d met the professor? This weird, gut twisting feeling that made his palms sweat?
It unnerved him,