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‘I just wondered if you’ve got two minutes to talk over something. It’s more your bag than mine.’
I check my watch. I really don’t. Trying not to roll my jaw, I tell him, ‘Sure, take a seat.’ I move to sit on the window ledge behind my desk and give him his two minutes.
See, this is the thing with real estate lawyers, they know jack about anything other than buying properties. By the time Malcolm leaves my office, two minutes have turned into ten.
I need to get him on my side, then the rest of the forty-sixth floor might follow suit. There’s still work to be done, but I’ve made baby steps.
Now rushing, which is not like me at all, I grab the suit I changed out of and hand it to Sarah as I head out of the office. ‘Could you get this dry-cleaned?’
‘No problem. How are you feeling?’
Sick. Nervous like a kid with zits asking a girl to prom. But I’m not going on a date. I’m being sociable, kind even, and taking a woman who is relatively new to the city to a Yankees game. ‘Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’
One side of her lips curl and she waves a hand in a way that tells me she can see right through me.
‘What’s this?’ Marty’s voice comes across my shoulder.
I roll my eyes before turning to him. There really is no hiding from these two. ‘I’m taking the afternoon.’
‘What do you mean, you’re taking the afternoon? You never take the afternoon. You’re Drew. Workaholic.’
He sounds like my sister. ‘Yeah, well, you told me to start behaving like a human. Reap what you sow, Marty.’
* * *
By the time I reach the subway station, I’m hot in the day’s humid air. Great. Not only am I being forced to take the subway, but I’m hot as hell. I hate the subway, for the record. I haven’t ridden the subway since I was old enough to afford not to take the subway. But British Becky wants to ride the subway, so it looks like I’m taking the sweat oven right up to the Bronx.
‘Hey!’ I swivel to face the person whose hand is on my shoulder. Her hair is loose around her shoulders. Her lips are kissed with gloss. Her cheeks are pink, and her eyes… Those eyes are going to be the death of my self-restraint.
Put the brakes on, Drew. There are bigger things going on in your life. I’m about to do just that but I open my mouth and no words come out. Air passes my lips, but my synapses refuse to send a message to my voice box. I can’t speak as I drink her in. Who knew a baseball jersey and little denim shorts could be so damn sexy?
‘Are you okay?’
The hell I am. I need to get a serious hold of myself.
‘Yeah, just wondering whether you bought that jersey especially for this game.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘Well, duh. You can’t go to your first Yankees game without a Yankees jersey.’
‘Christ, I feel like a tour guide. Come on.’
I lead us down the steps and to the station’s metro card booth. But when I go to take my wallet my from pocket, I find two Yankees tickets, a cell phone, and nothing else.
I try my other pockets. I didn’t do this. Come on.
‘Everything okay?’ Becky asks.
‘I forgot my wallet.’ When do I ever forget my wallet? Jesus. Where is my head? ‘Give me two minutes. I’ll run back to the office.’
Becky nudges past me and hands a twenty-dollar bill to the man selling metro cards. ‘Forget it. Let’s just go. I can pick this up. We can get your wallet on the way back.’
‘I can’t let you pay.’
‘Drew, you’re doing me a favor. It’s not like this is a first date or something. You can pay next time.’
She’s right. This isn’t a date. We’re friends. I’m being a buddy. I’m being human. A human who wants to tear those tight little shorts off with my teeth. ‘You’re right. I’ll pay you back later. I’ll need a hot dog too. You can’t do Yankees without a dog and fries.’
She hands me my card. ‘Deal.’
