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“So, she’s got a type.”
Simone gave me another look.
“And I don’t conform to it. Are you saying she’s going to dump me?”
Simone shrugged. “I don’t know! All I know, is that Nikki is a wonderful person, sweet and kind and the best friend you could have in your life. But when it comes to guys, she’s … picky in a way that seems off. She doesn’t behave the way you’d expect.”
She told me how Nikki had once gone on a romantic weekend away with a guy only to come back early, arriving in the middle of the night, knocking on their door because she’d lost her key and had to get in. She was too upset to talk about it, but clearly something had happened.
“All she kept saying over and over again, was that it wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.”
Still, I wasn’t hearing the weirdness.
“Could it be … that she’s just not like you?” I asked, perhaps a bit bluntly.
“What do you mean?” Simone asked.
I didn’t say anything for a while. Simone didn’t like talking about her private life. I’d never seen her with anyone since high school when she and Jason Brenneman had been inseparable. But then he went off to Yale and she spent her weekends trying out new recipes and running towards the phone every time it rang. When I confronted her about it, she closed down completely. I respected that there were some things we couldn’t talk about.
After a moment, she said. “I don’t want you getting hurt, big brother. Nikki bounces back, I’ve seen her do it time and time again. She’s like one of those colorful beach balls. I don’t think you have quite that much bounce in you.”
She hardly sounded like she was Nikki’s best friend.
I frowned. “What are you saying exactly?”
“She doesn’t have a problem finding guys. I just wish she hadn’t found you.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, sis,” I said, putting my arm around her and squeezing her shoulder. “I can look after myself. Remember, I had the cartels after me once before.”
Simone smiled a little at that.
But I couldn’t deny that her words had made me think.
Chapter 13
Nikki
After dropping Zoë off at school one morning, I heard someone calling out behind me.
“Excuse me!
I looked behind me and saw one of the other moms trying to catch up to me.
“Hey, are you Zoë’s… ah… her…”
“Nanny?” I helped her out. “Yes, I am.”
“I’m Amber,” she said. “Amber Redding-Wright, Taylor’s mom?”
“Oh, right,” I said, nodding politely. I had heard Amber’s name come up a lot in the school gossip. Mostly because of her scandalous break-up from Taylor’s father, a prominent city art broker. Amber was tall, blonde and had that groomed look of a woman who had the means and the ability to find the latest eyeliner and knew how to use it. She was skinny with long blond hair that fell straight past her shoulders. Not a hair was out of place. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. My hair was still wet from a quick shower this morning and I had put it up in a quick ponytail.
“I was wondering,” she said, in a conspiratorial voice, hooking her arm through mine, “If you knew if Zoë’s dad was seeing anyone?”
“Will?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes! It’s so hard to find good-looking, decent men out there,” she sighed. “And he is so cute!” she gave an artificial little giggle and squeezed my arm. “Is he available?”
“I don’t really know,” I said. “He works long hours, so there is not so much time to go out.”
