Free Infinite Risk by Ann Aguirre Page B

first, I only noticed the flaws that made him so different from the boy I fell in love with. But now he was familiar enough for me to see that he didn’t need perfecting: from the sharpening of his chin when he smiled, to the lean line of his jaw, to the nervous way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he caught me looking.
    â€œWhat?” he asked.
    â€œNothing.”
    Fortunately, our bus arrived just then.
    Somehow I held it together long enough for us to reach Lofton, a neighborhood near downtown, but not close enough to walk. Kian practically thrummed with excitement. It was harder for me to summon the same level of enthusiasm while looking over my shoulder. Yet I couldn’t appear too nervous because, as far as Nine knew, the weird guy I met downtown was a meth head or whatever. I shouldn’t be on the alert for a stalker, but I could let my guard down.
    So my nerves felt raw when we hopped off the bus. I scanned the area, trying to look like any girl who might be uneasy as dark closed in. Cans and bottles littered the sidewalk, along with crinkling plastic wrappers, half buried in the slushy remnants of the snowstorm. There were a few pedestrians, likely headed toward the Marquee Bar. They’d kept the old signage that used to list NOW SHOWING but instead had been replaced with drink specials and theme nights. Apparently, they always showed movies, but only focused on classics on Saturday.
    Getting in turned out to be way easier than expected. There was nobody posted at the door, and the lobby had been turned into a standing bar with an industrial vibe. Ten people stood around with beers, but since I didn’t want to drink, I led the way through the open double doors. The big room that had been a theater still had a sloping floor, but it had been terraced so that a handful of tables sat on each level, and most seemed to have been rescued from an old diner, mostly four- and two-seater booths. At the back/top, they had free-range tables with regular chairs, probably to accommodate bigger groups.
    Nobody offered to escort us, so I grabbed a small booth near the middle. Eventually, a waiter came over. “What’ll you have?”
    The lighting was dim, so he probably couldn’t tell how young Kian was. It helped that he was tall too.
    I glanced at Kian, who shrugged. So I peered at the menu, seeking the cheapest options, answered for both of us, “Two Cokes and a basket of fries.”
    â€œComing right up.”
    Since we didn’t order booze, he never checked our ID. Technically, we needed to be twenty-one to get in here, but I was a little let down over how easy this was. I mean, I didn’t want to get questioned or kicked out, but still. After dropping the money at Psychedelic Records, it would be nice to put the licenses to use.
    Other people filed in and kept coming, even after the lights went down. Leaning forward, I whispered, “How come they don’t have a cover or sell tickets?”
    â€œPretty sure they make their money off drink markups.”
    That made sense, but since we’d gotten here early enough to snag a table, they couldn’t exactly refuse to serve just because we weren’t drinking expensive cocktails. Soon our Cokes and fries arrived. Kian still loved his with a ton of ketchup. I nibbled, aware of my own heartbeat like it was the tick of a clock. When the previews started, they included all the vintage stuff on the show reel, like going back in time. Which I’d done recently, just not this far. I settled in to watch Casablanca . The first time I’d watched it with Kian, I was riveted and it even made me cry, but this time I was more interested by the expressions that swept his mobile features. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise as I memorized each smile, each intake of breath.
    But around the halfway point, he glanced over, seeming to notice that my attention wasn’t on the movie. “Are you