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“Will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend, Champ?”
“Yes,” she says as people around us call out congratulations based on their assumptions of what they think they are witnessing. “I’d love to be your girlfriend.”
* * *
I followCalliope into the lobby of our building.
It’s almost midnight.
Our date night trek around midtown Manhattan ended less than thirty minutes ago.
After we stopped at a wine bar owned by one of Champ’s former co-workers, we took in the sights, sounds, and scents of Times Square. I can’t recall the last time I was down there, but tonight left me with a great memory of the area.
As we strolled hand-in-hand through the raucous Friday night crowds, Calliope broke free and took off in a sprint.
I followed fast on her heel and broke out laughing when I saw where she was headed.
She had spotted someone dressed in a Smurf costume, so she posed next to them while I snapped a few pictures on my phone. I put some money in their palm and thanked the mysterious stranger for capping off a memorable night.
“You’ll note that there are absolutely no palm prints on my dress,” she calls over her shoulder to me. “That Smurf is all gentleman, all the time.”
That’s interesting, considering the person who thanked me for tipping them for their time had a female voice.
“Lucky for him,” I quip.
She slows slightly as her phone starts ringing.
Before she digs her hand into her purse to fish for it, her gaze jumps to my face. “Calls at this time of night are never good.”
They are par for the course in my world. Our products are stocked in stores worldwide, and we have branch offices in many countries. It’s not unusual for me to get a call at this time or later if a problem pops up.
“You should answer,” I suggest even though she’s staring into her bag in search of her phone.
Her gaze jumps to the screen as soon as she’s got the phone in her hand.
She taps her thumb on it to decline the call. “It’s no one.”
The evident frustration lacing those three words suggests that it’s someone she doesn’t want to talk to.
“Who was it?” I ask.
Jealousy is a beast I have no experience battling, but I feel it brewing inside of me now.
Her non-answer pushes me into a place I don’t want to go, but curiosity is driving me. “Was it your ex, Calliope?”
She jabs a finger into the elevator call button more than once. “It’s no one, Sean.”
I move to stand next to her. “Do you still speak with him?”
She lets out an audible sigh. “There are some loose ends that I’m trying to tie up with him. That’s all that call was about.”
“Loose ends late on a Friday night?”
Jesus, I sound like a bastard.
Judging by the look on her face, she sees me in the same light. “I declined the call because I don’t want to talk to him tonight.”
That should satisfy me, but I see how her hands are shaking. I can hear the sound of her labored breaths. Whatever went down between her and this guy gutted her.
