Free Domino (The Domino Trilogy) by Jill Elaine Hughes Page A

thinking what Peter would think as he watched.
    He stared at me, fascinated. “Are you always this sexy when you drink soda?”
    I spat the lime wedge out onto the table in shock. “Excuse me?”
    “The thing you did with the lime is extremely sensual,” Peter said. “You didn’t realize that?”
    I shrugged my shoulders. Apparently not. And yet, I felt the familiar warmth creeping into my groin again. I was turned on, just like I’d been at the gallery.  I couldn’t think straight, and I was making a fool of myself.  “I really should go,” I said. “It’s late, and I have class tomorrow, and I’m really very sorry about all of this.” I got up for real that time, even though half of my dinner still sat untouched.
    Layla appeared, carrying my promised glass of ice water. “Going so soon? Do you want a box for your burger, hon?”
    I shook my head. “No, just leave it.”
    She gave me a concerned look. “There wasn’t anything wrong with it, was there? I’ll get the manager over here if there was.”
“No, I’ve just lost my appetite, is all. Thank you, Layla. You know I’ll be back.”
    She gave me a nod and a knowing smile, and set off to wait on some other customers.
    I dropped enough cash to cover my side of the bill on the table, then bolted out of the restaurant without looking back.

FOUR
 
    The drive home was a complete blur. Everything seemed out of focus, and I felt so hot and bothered (an expression I was only now beginning to understand) that I had trouble concentrating on the road. Making matters worse, Ginger’s transmission was on the fritz again. I’d sprung the dough for a halfassed temporary fix over the winter, but it seemed that had run out. Poor Ginger kept stalling out between second and third gear, no matter how gently I let up on the clutch. She’d had that problem for years now, but I’d always been able to get around it, either through cheap repair jobs or gentle downshifting. But now the engine protested any time I tried to accelerate, and I could barely make the speed limit on I-90 on the way back to campus from downtown.
    I took the University Circle exit and was almost back in my own neighborhood when Ginger completely died. The engine came to a complete grinding halt at an intersection, and the only sound that emitted from her when I turned over the ignition was the horrid grinding sound of metal on metal.
    Fortunately she stalled at the head of the downward-sloping side street where Hannah and I had our apartment, so I could push Ginger downhill the rest of the way. I put her gears in neutral, tossed my stuff in the backseat, and got out to push. Ginger’s unwashed, rusty fenders would prove lethal to the clothes I’d borrowed from Hannah, though. I’d get stuck with a cleaning bill at minimum, might even have to pay to replace the duds if Hannah was in a bad mood. At least I’d had the foresight not to wear heels.
    It took me almost fifteen minutes to push Ginger down the street to the cul-de-sac where our apartment building stood. Luckily there was enough of an incline for me to sort-of steer the car into a final resting space based on gravity alone. I’d have to have her towed, likely to the junkyard rather than the repair shop. The repairman who did the cheap transmission fix over the winter had warned me it probably wouldn’t be worth sinking any more money into her, and that she was unlikely to survive another Cleveland winter. I’d been in denial at the time (Ginger and I went way back----originally my mother’s car when I was a kid, I’d learned to drive in her and she’d been my faithful source of transport since the age of sixteen) but I knew there was no denying it now.
    Poor Ginger, I thought. Boy, we had some great times. I pulled the parking break, heaved a sigh at my pathetic predicament, and headed towards my building. Hannah’s car was nowhere in sight, which meant she was still out at the symphony with Ted.
    It was already quite