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Chuckling, he shakes his head. “I am that guy. I have to go to Boston for a few days for work. You should come.”
“And do what?” I move to stand. “Take notes for you?”
“We’ll shoot some pool, eat a few good meals.” His shoulders loosen. “Unwind. Decompress. Call it whatever the hell you want.”
I call it bullshit because that’s what it is.
He saw something in me tonight that no one else did. The ghosts of Dylan’s past haunt him. Mine are less forgiving. They eat at my soul.
“You can break up with New York for a couple of days.” He laughs to lighten the somber mood that’s crept into the room. “When’s the last time you got on an airplane?”
Two months ago. I flew to Los Angeles and hiked the canyons on my own for a week.
Dylan doesn’t know. I don’t run every last minute trip by him.
“I’m working on a new deal.” I steal a glance at Dexie’s apartment. “I can’t leave the city right now.”
His gaze wanders over my shoulder and out the window. “Does it involve the pink-haired bombshell I saw looking over here?”
“It’s too early to say.” I shrug. “Time will tell.”
“Tell time to hurry the hell up.” He taps me in the center of the chest. “At least one of us should be happy.”
He’s right, but fate has a hand in that and history has taught me, you don’t get a choice over what life deals you.
***
You never know what’s waiting for you just around the corner.
In my case, it’s Dexie Walsh at midnight in a pair of white shorts, a blue T-shirt and red high heels.
I’m just exiting the bodega with a bottle of orange juice when I spot her sprinting past with a sketchpad in her hand.
“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath when she comes to a dead spot. “No, no, please, no.”
“Dexie?”
She whips around to face me. Panic washes over her expression.
“What’s wrong?” I take a step closer to her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“My friend, Sophia, came over.” She waves the sketchpad in the air. “She forgot this, so I ran down to give it to her, but the car was already at the corner, and by the time I got there, it sped away.”
Her hair is falling softly around her shoulders. Her face has been scrubbed clean of the scant amount of make-up that she does wear. She’s glowing in the pale light being cast on her from the bodega.
“I can get an Uber.” I tug my phone from the pocket of my pants. “If you’re lucky, the driver will beat Sophia to her own house.”
Shuffling back and forth on her feet, she shakes her head. “I’ll give it to her tomorrow. I can stop by her office on my way to work.”
I scratch my chin. “You’re not upset about the sketchpad?”
Her eyes wander to the entrance of her building. “I can’t go home. I ran out so fast that I forgot my keys and my phone.”
“If you need to make a call you can use mine.” I offer it to her.
She looks at it, but her hands don’t make a move. “I don’t know my super’s number. Harold’s contact info is in my phone and that’s in my apartment. Shit, shit and double shit.”
“Triple shit,” I chime in with a grin.
