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The white wall had a single, seven-foot-high, five-foot-wide blank
canvas on it. The fluorescent light made it seem to glow.
A door in the back of the white side opened, and Ella stepped through.
“Hey, Logan.”
Not the same girl. First off, she was pierced. Nose. Ears all the way
around. Her wavy black hair was pinned to the top of her head, and her eyes
seemed to be a paler brown. Almost amber. The freckles I remembered
from high school had paled, making her seem sexy instead of young. She
wore a black choker and a sleeveless Star Wars T-shirt that hugged her
curves. The ripped jeans sitting low on her waist were painted, patched with
contrasting thread, and wide on the bottom in a way that was out of style,
but somehow right with the red cowboy boots.
“Ella,” I said. “Nice to see you again.”
“You too.”
She was looking at me the same way I looked at her. Taking stock of my
face, my suit, with her thumbs hooked in her belt loops, ringed fingers
tapping her hips.
Bit of a challenge, this one. Maybe I’d make a deal with her. Maybe I
wouldn’t. But no matter what my decision was, I wanted her to agree to the
proposal. I wanted her to want it as desperately as I needed it.
I said, “You look good.”
“Let’s not start with bullshit, okay?”
Before I could answer, a man came from the same door. Six-three. Built.
Dressed for business and looking right through me.
“Logan Crowne,” Ella said. “This is my friend, Amilcar Wilton.”
We shook hands and I wondered if the El Camino was his. That would
be a kind of relief.
“Good to meet you,” he said.
“Same.”
He turned to Ella and nodded. “I’m out.”
“Yeah?” she answered as if he’d said more than two innocuous words.
“Yeah.” He kissed her cheek, and though she and I hadn’t agreed to a
damn thing, my blood ran a little hotter and my hands tightened into fists as
if she was already mine.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll call you later.”
“See you,” Amilcar said to me as he passed.
Behind me, the door closed and we were alone.