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“About how handsome I am?”
“Something like that.” I get another little smile, which is gratifying. It lights up her pretty face. I find myself genuinely curious about her. “Mostly I thought you were trouble.”
“We have something in common then, because I’m positive you’re a problem.”
“Says the guy that assumed I was a whore just a second ago.”
“Fair point, but I thought we were starting over.”
“Alright, fine.” She sits up straight. My god, I was to look at that cross nestled between the most beautiful chest in the whole damn world. But her body is not here for my enjoyment. Not yet, anyway. “My name is Molly.”
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Saul.” We shake hands and I hold on a second too long. The jolt of excitement that runs down my arm and into my chest is bizarre. Her mouth opens and I think she can feel it too. Her hand pulls back like her fingers are on fire.
“If this place is such a dump, why are you two here? Do you live nearby?”
I shake my head. “Can I be brutally honest with you? It’s been a really long week and I came in here to unwind. Also, to stake out my new territory.”
“Territory?” Her eyebrows raise.
Dante cuts in. “What my friend here means is we’re traveling salesmen and we’re working this neighborhood.” He gives me a meaningful look. “Right, Saul?”
“Sure. Salesmen.” I look at her and she knows that’s a whole load of bullshit.
“Alright, that seems totally reasonable,” she says in a way that indicates it’s completely not. “I’m here for the same reason, actually.”
“Oh, yeah? What do you sell? No, don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re the queen of life insurance.”
She snorts and covers her mouth when she laughs. “Life insurance? What the hell?”
“You said you’re a salesman like me and you strike me as the insurance type.”
“No, I meant I’m here to unwind. Stressful week and stuff? What the hell about me says life insurance?”
“You have the eyes of an actuary.”
That gets another snorting laugh. God, it’s fucking adorable. “That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s the truth. You look like a girl that can calculate a premium on the spot. It’s very attractive.”
“Okay, you’re right, I’m an actuary. And what do you sell?”
“Fine art.”
“No kidding? You sell fine art?”
“Sure. Monets. Picassos. Whatever.”
“Makes total sense. I’m sure there are lots of dockworkers able to afford million-dollar paintings.”
“You’d be surprised.” I gesture at the depressing bar. “These are my clientele.”
She snort-laughs again, shaking her head, and sips her wine. The hooker gaffe seems to be behind me and I launch into some easy small talk with no small amount of flirting. Dante ignores me and watches the game while I ask about where she lives, how the insurance business is going, that sort of thing. After a second drink, Dante announces that he has an actual job in the morning.
“Don’t stay out too late,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. “Business to deal with tomorrow.”
“Always more rich men in need of a good canvas,” I say with an exaggerated sigh.
Dante shakes his head and leaves.
