Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck #8) - Emilia Finn Page 0,97
his brown. “It strikes me as interesting that this is your star sign, because the fish are symbolic of a constant division of attention between fantasy and reality.”
He frowns, and because we’re in the back corner, the shadows make his brows seem heavier, older… more thoughtful. “My fantasy and my reality?”
“Mm. Your reality being your family’s fight gym, maybe, and your fantasy being—”
“You?” he cuts in.
“Um…” I swallow the nerves that sit lodged in my throat, and shake my head. “No, I was gonna say your hunger to train. Do you still have that guy? What was his name?”
He grins. “Guy?”
It takes me a moment for my brain to understand. For my senses to process. “His name is Guy?”
Jamie only nods.
“Okay, yeah, him.” Leaning into his side, I study the guys at the pool table and take stock. Their number, their size, their inebriation. “Maybe that’s your division. In reality, you’re the contender. In your fantasy, you’d rather teach.”
“Mmm. No.” He flattens his lips and takes another sip of Coke. “I’m almost certain my fantasy involves a butt-chinned dancer and her inability to sit the fuck still for more than a week at a time. Now tell me your birthday, and stop deflecting.”
“February.” I shoot my gaze back to my lap when one of the pool players catches my eyes. “I’m actually older than you. I just never told you.”
“Really?” Jamie’s hand comes around to my chin and pulls my face around. “You’re older than me? By how much?”
“Depends.” I hate that his thumb comes down to my chin. That he presses it to my dimple, and tingles shoot straight to the center of my stomach. “What time of day were you born?”
“Shut up,” he huffs. “Same day? You’re lying to me again.” He releases my chin and shakes his head. “I should’ve known you wouldn’t give a straight answer. It’s like you’re literally incapable.”
“No…” I slide my hands beneath the table and twine my fingers together. “I wasn’t lying. And no, not the same day. My birthday is the day before yours, which makes me an entire day older than you, give or take a few hours.”
“But you were born early, right?”
Nodding, I smile when the server brings our food out and sets our plates on the table in front of us. As soon as she leaves, I dig in and snag a fry. “Right. A couple months early. Drugs, big head; you remember the story.”
“So really…” He reaches forward and snags a chip from his lake-sized plate. “I’m around two or three months older than you. Technically.”
“Sure, if you wanna get into the nitty-gritty about when your folks had sex, compared to when mine did.”
“Gross.” Sitting back, he snags another chip, but this time, he loads it up with beef and guac. “I didn’t say I wanted to discuss the nitties, nor the gritties. I was only establishing dominance.”
“Of course.” I shake my head and lean forward to check out my burger.
The bread roll seems fresh and fluffy, and when I pull the top off and check out the chicken patty, I find it steaming hot. Better than rubbery, old, and riddled with salmonella.
“Your dad’s sperm left the gate before mine did, but I guess you know me well enough to know that I wasn’t coming second to a boy.”
“Not surprised.”
“Your mom’s vagina was stretching at the same time as my—”
“That’s enough of that,” he grumbles. “Fuck. I just wanted to know when your b—” And then he pauses. “That makes you a Pisces too.”
I pick another fry off my plate and go back to studying the pool table. “Mmhm.”
“The fish swimming in opposite directions.”
“Mm. The salt on these fries is awesome, you want some?”
“I’m reality, Q. And you’re fantasy. Always going in the opposite direction. Always missing each other.”
“Nope. I don’t believe in fantasy, remember? Hope, dreams, whims, all synonymous with bullshit and naiveté. But nice try.”
I look back to Jamie when the dude with a pool cue looks a little too deeply, for a little too long. I don’t need to be recognized in this place. Not as the girl with an ass chin, sitting with the guy who offered half a million dollars on national TV.
Was that only a week ago? Two weeks?
“What the hell were you thinking, blasting me on TV like that, huh?” I turn in the booth and look into Jamie’s eyes. “What would happen if my parents saw that interview and figured, Hey! Half a mil will get us high as