By noon, Josey’s antsy to get something to
eat. “We can take the shuttle back to the hotel,” she says,
watching skaters from the south Jersey club race over the ice. “The
food there’s covered in our fee. Or hey, I think I saw a deli just
a few blocks away, we could try that.”
Ryan doesn’t tell her that he’s not pushing
this damn chair of his down the streets of Atlantic City like a kid
in a stroller. He just rubs Dante’s leg and frowns at the skaters
whizzing by and waits for someone else to say something, someone
other than Josey. If she’d let anyone get a word in
edgewise, he thinks. Much more of her chatter and he’ll tell
her himself, in mean language so there’s no mistaking the point.
Dante f***s me, b***h. He’s my boy, not yours. He likes it from
me. He’s about ready to s
