Page 191 of The Doctors Will See You Now

I barked a shout of laughter, and the cabbie glared at me again. Geez. Rough crowd.

“I was just messaging with my…” I cleared my throat, expecting to choke on the word, but it came out altogether too easily. “Girlfriend.”

I’d never used that word before. Not in my entire life. I’d expected it would feel more traumatizing. Instead, I found myself smiling.

And then, frowning.

Christ, is she my girlfriend?

Not really.

Would she want to be?

Probably not. She felt more like a hostage than anything. Arm-twisted, coerced, and blindfolded into my company.

Though, she did seem to like my company once she was in it.

Me: Do you actually like me?

Harlow: This is a weird question.

Me: I mean, am I annoying?

Harlow: Okay, now you’re really asking two separate questions. Because, yeah. I guess I like you most of the time. But, yeah, you’re definitely annoying.

Me: I don’t know what to think about that.

Harlow: Well…then I guess that’s fair, Scotty. Because most of the time, I don’t know what to think about you.

Christ, that felt like a major admission. But maybe I’d read that wrong…

Harlow: Bleeding all over your text message here…

Okay. Maybe I didn’t read it wrong.

Me: I don’t know what to make of you either. I do know I keep coming back for more.

Harlow: Sigh…ditto.

I put my phone back in my pocket and leaned back into the sticky leather of the disgusting cab seat. And then I tried not to think about how disgusting the seat was. Luckily, with all the swirling thoughts in my mind about Harlow, it wasn’t too hard to distract myself.

I felt out of my depth. I’d never felt this kind of draw to a woman before, and quite frankly, had never expected I would. But I’d definitely figured that if I were to eventually like someone with any real interest one day, they’d feel the same way back.

The uncertainty about how she felt about me was torture.

The cabbie blew his horn sharply, and my head flew up from its resting place to see that we’d stopped.

“We’re here,” he said, once again impatient. I was starting to wonder what I’d done to this guy. Taxi drivers in New York weren’t exactly the friendliest best friends ever, but rarely, if ever, did I annoy them this much.

Maybe because you’re turning into the same mindless guy who gets lost in thought about a woman constantly instead of keeping his fucking shit together.

I glanced two storefronts up to see that we were, indeed, there. Hopping out quickly, I tossed him the fare plus a little tip—smaller than usual because, yeah, thanks for nothing, asshole—and jogged through the drizzle to get inside.

Hopefully, the weather cleared up in a couple of hours like it was supposed to so that Harlow and I could enjoy our walk.

As soon as I made it inside the door, I hit bodies. The place was packed as always, but the food was worth it. Not to mention, they still actually took reservations, something I couldn’t say for very many good places in the city.

Pushing gently through the crowd until I made it to the hostess station, I lowered my voice. “I’m meeting Pamela Lockhead, plus one more.”