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“You should go out with him,” she said.
“Iamactually going home next weekend,” I told her. “And I don’t even like that band.”
“Oh, no, that band sucks balls, big-time,” she said. “They’re the musical equivalent of IHOP. But another time, I mean.”
Another cashier waved me forward, and Jane followed with her own basket. The cashier frowned at the two of us approaching together, but said nothing as she started to ring me up.
“You don’t think he’s a little...I don’t know. Uptight? My dad doesn’t even wear pants that pressed,” I pointed out.
“Whatever. Your dad doesn’t even know what an iron is,” Jane retorted. “And that doesn’t mean Jared wouldn’t be good for you. He’s nice. And you deserve nice after what fucking Patrick—”
“Four ninety-two, eight-seven,” the cashier proclaimed.
I handed over my credit card while addressing Jane. “I donotwant to talk abouthim,” I said vehemently.
With eyebrows raised, the cashier handed me back my card and receipt, which I signed with a flourish. Jane placed her books on the counter with a bright smile.
When I first started at HLS, I was still dating Patrick Harlow, otherwise known as the world’s second worst person. Patrick was a certified asshole and investment banker I had met at Goldman. We dated for almost a year before I left for law school, and continued seeing each other on weekends before a surprise bout of chlamydia informed me that he was sleeping with other people. When confronted, he shrugged and told me he was “sorry about the clap, but we never decided to be exclusive.” I had slapped him in the face and gone straight to the pharmacy. Ten weeks of antibiotics cleared up the STD, but I had never quite healed from the damage he had done to my heart.
Jared was waiting by the door for Jane and me. I caught his eye, and he waved and stepped out of the way of other students. With his toggle-front parka and nicely combed hair, he was the definition of safe.
It had become clear over the past year and a half that one-night stands weren’t my thing. And, despite the way a certain tall, blond god kept creeping into my thoughts, there really weren’t any other prospects on the immediate horizon. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in, well,someone. Maybe the key wasn’t chemistry, but intimacy. Jared and I were sort of friends. Maybe I needed to start there.
Jared stood to the side, holding the door open in a way that demonstrated his good manners.
“Thanks,” I said as Jane and I stepped out into the snow-covered street with him. “So, I can’t go to the show next weekend, but would you want to go out another time?”
Jane was barely able to contain the boomerang-like double take and face-smashing grin, so she scampered ahead of us to offer some privacy.
Jared smiled brightly. “Yeah! Do you still have my information from study group?”
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s in my contacts. I’ll call you when I get back from New York. Maybe after we settle into classes, okay?”
He smiled again. “Sounds good. I’ll see you around, Skylar.”
With a brief wave, he turned and left. I watched his straight-backed form before turning to Jane, who was practically jumping up and down.
“Don’t. Say. Anything,” I warned her, but we both grinned as we started back to the warmth of our apartment.
Five
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the other castaway! Lemme guess, you and Eric were up to no good.”
Steve greeted me with uncomfortably loud hoots and hollers when I arrived at the firm Monday morning. Like most of the other interns and junior associates, I generally made a point to be at the office at least ten minutes early. It was seven forty-five.
I dropped my messenger bag on my desk. The blizzard that had coated the city with another two feet since Friday made snow boots and my parka essential. Shearling boots over wool cigarette slacks wasn’t the best look, but luckily, I wasn’t alone in my style in Boston.
I stripped off my outerwear, then put on the cheap black pumps I kept in my desk. I dearly missed my Manolos, but they were now at the cobbler, being treated for the salt stains that had persisted despite Sterling’s careful treatment.
Just the thought of his hands on my feet made me shiver. The sad truth was that I hadn’t been able to get the encounter out of my head, no matter how many briefs I’d read. I doubted Sterling had been as affected, but I had never known the brief touch of someone’s hands—large, slightly callused hands—on my toes could be so erotic. Then, of course, there was the way he worked those pants…
“So how was he, counselor? As good as he looked? Or at least the way his overpriced suit looked?”
I snapped out of my daydream. “What?” God, could he know?
“You know, the investment asshat you were chatting up at the bar,” Steve said. “Cherie and I saw him follow you out. What was his name? Rico Suave? Was his apartment massive and full of high-tech gadgets?”
Steve waggled his eyebrows jokingly, but I could hear the note of hurt in his voice. He was the kind who would comment on another man’s expensive suit precisely because he couldn’t afford it. I had sympathy for the guy, but that didn’t mean I wanted him commenting on my sex life.
