“We’ve got enough hands here. Why don’t you snag us a good table?” Zuri asks.
“I can do that,” I say, then head to the training room to grab my bag, and pop back out.
Poorna’s at the front counter tucking her tablet into a satchel. “Well, a pizza is calling my name,” she says, nodding my way. “Want to join me?”
I feel popular tonight. It’s a nice feeling. I should probably say yes to her. Good networking and all. I could even grab a quick bite with her and still meet the crew. But when a phone buzzes on the counter, my attention snaps to that.
The screen lights up with a message from Pour Decisions—spelled p-o-u-r—and a preview pane that says, What time tonight?
My pulse skitters with worry. That must be Sawyer’s Yappy Hour bar. That’s so unlike him to forget his phone. Several pairs of eyes land on the silver device rattling on the counter. Zuri’s, Levi’s, and even Poorna’s.
An unexpected urge to protect him comes over me. Even if he’s a grumpy fucker. I dart out a hand so I’m the first to grab the mobile device. “I’d better bring this to Sawyer,” I say quickly, since he might need it for his meeting.
Especially if this message isabouthis meeting, and it sounds like it is. “I’ll text you later,” I say to Zuri, then turn to Poorna. “Raincheck? I should take care of this.”
“Of course,” she says. “I’d die if I were separated from my phone for more than fifteen minutes.”
“You, me, same,” Levi says.
“Who wants pizza?” Poorna asks, and before I’m out the door, she’s arranged to handle the celebratory drinks and dinner and made several new friends at Dog Tails.
I rush to the pavement, scanning up and down Main Street for his silhouette, the sturdy set of his shoulders, the swoop of his hair. But he took off at least five minutes ago.
“C’mon. Be in the lot,” I mutter. Just in case, I race down the block and duck into the parking lot behind Dog Tails, my gaze swinging from car to car. But his black electric vehicle is nowhere to be seen.
My shoulders slump.
Well, Pour Decisions it is. I pop the bar name into Waze, since I’ve never been there. The GPS tells me it’s about ten miles away in nearby Duck Falls. “You’d better appreciate me,” I say to no one, though I’m hoping the wind carries my words to Sawyer.
I hop into my orange beast, saying hi to Roxie as I start her up. “You’re doing so well,” I say to the car, coaxing her along as I set Sawyer’s phone down on the console, but it rattles again.
Another message from Pour Decisions.
Should I look? It doesn’t really make a difference what they’re saying. I can’t get the info to Sawyer faster anyway. But as I’m settingmyphone in the holder, I catch a glimpse of the preview window on his.
It says:Can you do 8:15 for Sam Silversmith?
Who’s that? Maybe the guy who runs the bar? I don’t know. And really, I don’t care. Sawyer’s lucky I’m doing this for him. I could have let his dumb phone sit there, his messages unanswered, his meeting his alone to deal with.
The man owes me a big thank-you for what I’m about to do—miss pizza night.
But it’s almost eight o’clock now, so I’ve got a window to get the phone to him. And, although he’s been pissing me off with his cold-and-colder routine, I don’t want him to be in an uncomfortable spot for a meeting. I know how important his deals are to him.
Even so, as I pull out of the lot, I run through possible payback. Do I demand he supply breakfast for everyone for the next week? Ask him to convince Alexandra to let Levi and Hazel and everyone take some pics of the set and the next shoot? Or ask Poorna? She’d probably let him.
Or, as Roxie wheezes her way down the road, maybe I’ll just give him a piece of my mind. That’s it! On the drive to Duck Falls, I practice my speech.
“Do you really need to be a broody ass just because we slept together? You’ve been nothing but a stubborn grouch since the night you fucked me to pieces on my couch, and I asked you to go so I wouldn’t climb you again. Get over yourself, you, you, youVirgo.”
Yes, I bet he’s a Virgo. This is such Virgo behavior—precise, rigorous, analytical, driven to be useful, compelled to be responsible.
He’s being so damn responsible at work. Mister Proper. Mister Serious. Mister Professional.
But I’ve had enough of it.
Soon enough, I’m on Mallard Street in Duck Falls, peering ahead for a spot. But the street is packed to the gills. Hmm. There’s no lot for the bar, so I round the block, then ease over to the curb. When I cut the engine, I take a deep breath. I’m still a little worked up. But, miracle of miracles, Roxie’s AC has dried up all my sweat. Yay me.
Muscle memory sends me scooting toward the passenger seat, but I stop, drop back down into the driver’s seat, then open the door. I smile. It was a nice thing he did.
