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But there was also something about Xavier that made me do a lot of things I shouldn’t.
Instead of doing what I knew was rational and sensible, I looked up at Adam with my sweetest smile. “Sure. A drink sounds fine.”
* * *
For a minute,I thought maybe I’d imagined him. Adam led me a few blocks up Court Street, gabbing the entire way about some portrait series he was working on at home, preferably something that could be featured in a new gallery in Fort Greene. He’d learned to paint during a short course at St. Martin’s in England, apparently, when he lived there briefly with his family. On any other day, I might have found the story interesting. I would have peppered him with questions about the place I’d always wanted to go.
Unfortunately, I was too distracted to listen as I kept looking over my shoulder for my big black shadow.
I had imagined him. I must have. There was no one there when I’d looked back again, nor had there been for the past four blocks. This was my fear playing tricks on me. Another sign I needed to take care of my business before it took care of me.
By the time we reached the pub Adam had suggested, I was satisfied that Xavier’s scowl had in fact been a product of my imagination. I smiled to myself as I found a seat at the bar while Adam left to use the bathroom. And then shrieked at the sound of my name in a familiar brooding British voice.
“Francesca.”
I spun around and nearly fell off my barstool. “Oh my God, what are you doing here?”
Xavier slid onto the stool next to me and rolled his eyes. “Well, I didn’t come all the way to Brooklyn for the views, Ces. You saw me outside the school.”
Catching my breath, I gingerly sat back down. “You mean when you were stalking me at my place of work? Yes, I caught that. Just like you clearly saw me leave with my coworker.”
“Yeah, I think we all know what your coworker wants from you.”
Xavier glanced with a skeptical brow toward Adam, who was now at the other end of the bar, presumably ordering drinks. He was laughing and grinning at the bartender, who was batting a pair of fake-looking eyelashes at him.
“And the barmaid, it seems,” Xavier remarked. “And probably anything in a skirt.” He turned back to me, his dark gaze taking more than a few moments to drink me in. “You can do better.”
I swallowed, feeling slightly uncomfortable in my favorite corduroy overalls, a Blondie T-shirt, and one of the many wool sweaters I picked up at the Goodwill. My fingernails were unpainted, with a few remnants of glitter from today’s art project stuck to my palms. My hair was tossed up in a floppy bun, and the only attempt was my favorite gold hoops. Xavier, on the other hand, was wearing a cashmere coat, sleek leather gloves, and yet another black suit. I looked like one of my students, while he looked like Bruce Wayne. I was dressed for going toe-to-toe with eight-year-olds, not a tycoon.
No, no, no. He was not getting the upper hand. Not this time. This was Brooklyn. My school. My turf.
“Everything all right?”
We both turned to find Adam standing in front of us with two glasses, one with his drink of choice, the other wine.
He held the latter out to me. “I took the liberty of ordering you a Chardonnay, since you didn’t want a margarita.”
“She doesn’t like white wine,” Xavier cut in. “Only red.”
“Oh, shit.” Adam glanced between the two of us and the wine. “I can get you another glass—”
“No, that’s fine.” I accepted the wine and took a sip. “That was very thoughtful, Adam. Thank you.”
Xavier was right—I didn’t typically like white wine. But I’d gulp this entire thing down like water if it wiped that smug look off his face.
“Hey, man, I’m Adam.” Adam held out his now free hand to Xavier.
“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I’m rude. This is—”
“Xavier Parker,” Xavier interrupted. He did not put out his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Adam said, squinting slightly as he took back his hand and examined Xavier. “You look familiar, actually. Have we met before?”
Xavier just snorted. “Unlikely. Unless you read the Mail or the Mirror.”
I resisted the urge to flick him on the temple like I would do to Marie and Joni when they were being brats. “Stop being a snob,” I murmured before turning back to Adam. “Xavier is…an old family friend.”
Adam looked between us dubiously. I did my best not to twirl my hair and whistle. I knew what he was thinking. Between Xavier’s fancy duds and my red sweater that had been pulled out of shape by too many little hands, we didn’t exactly look like friends. Or people who would even exist within the same universe together.
