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“What is wrong with you?” I demand.
“So many things. Where do I start?”
I look at the door. I could swear I just heard footsteps. “Clair and Kennedy, are you eavesdropping?”
“Of course we are,” Kennedy calls from the other side of the door. “This is the best tea ever.”
I shake my head and walk down the stairs to stand on the stairwell landing, which I hope is out of earshot of my two snooping BFFs.
Paxton is still talking. “We need our own Brangelina name. I know—what about Puby, that’s Paxton and Ruby combined... no, wait, that’s horrible...”
“Paxton, you absolute lunatic. What the hell are you doing saying that you love me on national TV?” I demand.
“Oh, do you think it will go national?” he says, all innocence.
“Paxton! I will come over there and slice and dice you.”
“But you just got out of jail. You don’t want to have to go back, do you?” I can hear the laughter in his voice.
“Don’t threaten me,” I snarl.
“I am not threatening you. I have your back.”
“Why, though? One minute you hate me, the next minute you’re saving my ass, and the minute after that you’re living out some kind of weird rom-com storyline in public, and name-checking me while you do so.”
“You are the sister of my friend’s wife. If she’s freaking out about you being in jail and ruining your life and getting kicked out of college, then he’ll freak out, which is bad for him and bad for the team.”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “Not good enough.”
“It’ll have to be. In the meantime, while this criminal case plays out, you owe me big time.”
“Well, you’re buy-your-own-island rich, and I know a hundred and one ways to cook Ramen noodles, so I’m not sure exactly how you think I can repay you. What exactly do you think you’re going to collect? Sexual favors?”
“Ruby, Ruby, Ruby. I swear you sounded a little hopeful when you said that.”
“You are so lucky we’re not in the same room together right now,” I hiss.
“When you get all scary like that, it’s kind of hot. Anyway, we do need to keep working on the details of... all this. Our beautiful love story.”
“Our fake-ass love story which is going to end with all of our friends and family being very confused or pissed off at us for lying to them.”
“Not at all. Who has to know we lied? Anyone who believes this is real, we’ll just tell them that we dated, it didn’t work out, because of your unreasonableness, but because I am so gracious and understanding and forgiving, we parted as friends.”
“Bitter enemies.”
“Works for me. You need to meet me at our diner.”
“We don’t have a diner.”
“We do now. The Whistling Pig on 76th Street. See you in an hour. Don’t be late, boo-boo.”
“Do not call me that,” I protest, but he’s hung up. So I have to tromp back up the steps and tell Clair and Kennedy that Paxton and I are sort of together, but he was not supposed to say anything about it in public because we are definitely not in the “in love” phase yet and now I need to go yell at him in person.
“Give him hell.” Clair nods enthusiastically.
“Can we watch?” Kennedy asks. I reply with a pssh sound of contempt and then go flag down a taxi.
When I walk in the door of the Whistling Pig, Paxton is sitting at the counter on a spinny stool, and there’s a line of people standing and waiting for him to sign autographs. He’s changed from his blazer to a more casual short-sleeved gray Henley shirt and faded jeans and scuffed white sneakers. The shirt shows off the swell of his biceps, and the jeans mold perfectly to his muscular thighs. I take a microsecond to enjoy looking at him, and then resume being huffy.
