Текст книги "The Offer"

Автор книги: Karina Halle

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

“I found the kettle in my room this morning. When abouts did you return it and how did you get into my apartment?”

The question takes her completely off-guard but from the way she looks absolutely bashful and ashamed, I know she must have done it when I was whacking off.

“Just when I got home,” she says quickly, suddenly eyeing the next person in line. “I thought you were asleep so I just put it in the kitchen and left.”

Bullshit. But I let it go because even if I called her on catching me in the act, she would deny it – anything to get out of that conversation.

As she tends to the next person, I slip a fifty in the tip jar and take a sip of my drink. The Bram McGregor certainly has a fucking kick to it. It’s actually pretty damn good.

I leave her be for now and look for an empty bar stool and find one by none other than Linden who is at the end of the bar talking to James as he shakes a martini.

“Fuckface,” Linden says when he sees me saunter over, our usual term of endearment. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I shrug. “Bored.” I look at James and pass him the drink. “You have to try this.”

James’s brow piercing raises as he eyes it. “What is it?”

“Your new bartender made it,” I told him. “Try it.”

James does so and then considers it with a tilt of his head. “Not bad.”

“It’s called the Bram McGregor,” I tell him.

“Of course it is,” Linden says with a groan.

I go on, “You should give that gal a raise. Anyone that can make something this tasty on the fly is someone to hold on to.”

“Well I am trying to get her more shifts,” James explains, “but it’s not easy when I had full staff to begin with. I gave her the job to help her out but I’m not sure what else I can do.”

“Fire someone,” I suggest.

“Bram,” Linden warns. “Don’t get all embroiled in someone else’s business. You have your own to attend to, brother.”

“Well, Jenny isn’t exactly working out,” James admits. “I mean, she’s efficient and dependable but the more she works here, the more she thinks men are responsible for the doom of civilization. I can’t have a conversation with her unless some weird sector of feminism is brought up.”

“She does work here though,” Linden points out. “You can’t really blame her.”

“Like I said, fire her,” I say.

“I’ll give it time,” James says. “I hate to sound like a douche, but I just don’t know how reliable single moms can be.”

For some reason the comment makes my veins feel black and poisonous, like squid ink.

“She’s reliable,” I tell him, my voice stern. “I’m her damn landlord, I know she is.”

He gives me a look, the look that doesn’t take me seriously whatsoever. I should be used to that. “She doesn’t pay you rent. So you can’t really compare. Look, I like Nicola and I think she’s great, but what if something happens to her kid. We all know she’s sick. She could have a problem and then Nicola would have to up and leave.”

“Well, if you’re going to look at it that way, Jen Jen or whatever her name is, could have a flat tire on the way to work, or get food poisoning, or hell, just play hooky for a day. Anyone could. Having a damn kid doesn’t make you any less dependable. Don’t you think she needs this fucking job?”

“Easy brother,” Linden says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Just finish your ego drink and relax. James is just speculating. He’ll help Nicola as much as he can, right James?”

James nods, looking a bit weirded out, like he thought I was going to punch him or something. “Definitely. I’ll help.” Then he backs away and disappears around the other side of the bar.

“Scares easy, doesn’t he?” I ask Linden.

“Does he ever,” he says with a sigh, then finishes the rest of his Anchor Steam. He gives me a discerning look. “What are you really doing here?”

I shrug and take a sip of my drink, pretending my mouth isn’t on fire. I have a sudden notion of cooling it off with an ice cube and then my mind wanders over to Nicola, wondering if she’d squirm if poured the spicy drink over her breasts then rubbed my ice cold tongue on them after.

“Oh, I see,” Linden says and I immediately snap my attention to him.

“What?”

He jerks his chin down the bar at Nicola. “You’re here for her.”

“I guess I want to see if she’ll eventually pay me rent.”

A slow smile spreads across my brother’s face and he shakes his head in disbelief. “No you don’t. You’d let her live there forever rent free, I reckon.”

“Is that so?” I challenge but I’m afraid he might be right.

“Whatever happened to my brother who moved out West, wanting to invest his money and make a name for himself, step out from under our parent’s shadow?”

“I’m still him, you half-wit,” I tell him, hating that he’s got the power to get under my skin sometimes. It doesn’t help that both of us can bring the other down with the mere mention of our mum and dad. “There’s nothing wrong with trying to be a good Samaritan. You were the one always harping on me about being a selfish lout, doing nothing with myself. Now I am doing something and one of those things happens to be a good deed.”

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with the deed. I want Nicola helped out as much as the next person, especially for Steph’s sake. Those two are pretty close, even more so since we got hitched. I guess having babies or getting married brings you into the next step of the maturity club. But you can’t pretend you don’t have ulterior motives.” He jabs his finger in my face. “You can’t pass this all like you’re interested in charity. You’re losing money here, brother.”

The funny thing is I am interested in charity but there’s no use in telling my brother that. He doesn’t listen to me anyway. No matter how much you change, some people will always view you as you were at a certain time of your life. I don’t think Linden will ever stop thinking of me as the philandering git he knew growing up. I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking of him as the annoying little shit who used to steal my stuff, the same one I used to give atomic wedgies to in the playground. And no matter how much our mother tries to cut down on her drinking and the icy shell of her exterior, no matter how hard our father pretends to be proud of us, we can’t help but view them as themselves when we were most vulnerable.

“Be that as it may,” I try and explain. I sigh. It’s hopeless. “She’s got a nice rack.” I give up and drink my burning elixir.

But Linden is watching me closely. “Is that all?”

I nod and start to cough. He slides his water over and I gulp half of it down. “Thanks,” I say, wiping my lips with the bar napkin. “And yes, that’s all. Would you expect anything more from me?”

“I guess not,” he says. He twists around in his stool and nods at the front door. “Hey, check it.”

I glance over my shoulder. A stunning blonde with arse-length hair and a glossy smile comes in the door. She’s dressed to impress in a gold strapless top that shows off just enough cleavage and tight-as-fuck jeans.

“She looks like your type,” Linden says.

“Are you trying to distract me?” I ask him wryly.

His eyes turn serious. “I told you before, Nicola is a no-go for you. Steph will absolutely murder me if you two hook-up. I will never hear the end of it and she’ll go on and on about ruining our dynamics. It’s always about the dynamics. She keeps quoting Friends, when Ross and Rachel broke up and changed everything for everyone else. Drives me bloody bonkers.”

“I am not bloody Ross,” I tell him defensively. “Joey, maybe.”

“Fine, but you get what I mean. She’s concerned about everyone being nice and getting along and you know if you shag Nicola, that’s just going to end poorly. Not only for her, but for yourself. How charitable are you going to be when she sets your whole apartment building on fire, huh?”

I can’t help but smile. “You think I’d affect her that badly, huh?”

“Oh, you’re useless,” Linden says and snaps his fingers for James. “Barkeep, I need another one.”

I sit there with Linden, shooting the shit for a wee bit, until Nicola comes on down the bar to us.

“Brave enough for another one?” she asks. Do my ears detect a flirty tone?

I can feel Linden get up from beside me, which brings me an ounce of relief. Last thing I want is for him to watch over everything I say to her.

“If you’re serving, I’m drinking,” I tell her with a wink. “It was…Bramtastic.”

Her eyes seek the ceiling.

“You are unbelievable,” she says. “Maybe I’ll add less sweet this time, though I swear I didn’t add any cheese.”

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

She sighs and starts to make the drink. I make a mental note of the ingredients – Patrón tequila, lime juice, triple sec, hot pepper infused liqueur, a splash of orange juice and a wee hit of the brine from a jar of pickled banana peppers. Ah, so that was the secret ingredient.

While she’s piling up the garnishes on the end of a cocktail sword, she shoots me a look I haven’t seen before, not on her face anyway. It’s sort of pleading and puppy dog-ish. I like it. It makes me feel like she wants something from me for once instead of me always trying to give her something.

“So,” she says, her voice unsure. She hands me the drink. “So,” she starts again, “this drink is on the house.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I need a favor.”

My eyes widen. “You? You’re asking for a favor? From me?”

She seems to shut down before me. I quickly reach out and put my hand on hers, giving her soft skin a squeeze. She feels absolutely radiant to touch and I don’t want to let go.

But she’s staring at my hand like it doesn’t belong there. I remove it but lean forward to meet her eyes. “Sorry,” I say to her, “I didn’t mean to tease. What’s the favor? You know I’d do anything for you.”

Arse. That was not what was supposed to come out of my mouth. But I just smile at her, keeping it cool.

“Well,” she says, looking at the counter, “I was wondering tomorrow, if you’re not busy, if you wouldn’t mind taking me and Ava to IKEA.” She eyes me and quickly continues. It looks like just asking is bringing her pain. “I wouldn’t be long. I just need a new couch and I don’t think I can take the bus with it. I mean, I can try but—”

“I’d be happy to,” I tell her emphatically. “It’s not a problem at all. What time would you like to go?” I don’t bother pointing out that the Mercedes isn’t exactly big enough for a couch, even if it is disassembled into small, aggravating boxes but I figure I can always swap my car for Linden’s Jeep if need be.

Her features relax and she manages a smile. “You really wouldn’t mind? I don’t know, whenever works for you. I’m not working so…”

Everyone knows that Sundays at IKEA are a living nightmare so I suggest we get there as soon as they open and beat the crowds. She agrees and there’s a rare tickle in my stomach. I think I want to drown it with my drink.

I’m still smiling at her when Linden taps me on the shoulder.

“Bram,” he says as I turn around. That blonde with the gold top is standing behind me with him, looking at me expectantly. “This is Paige.”

What the hell is my brother doing? I’ve never known him to try and set me up before. He knows I don’t fucking need it.

“Hello, Paige,” I say to her with a polite bow of my head, because I’m anything if not fucking polite.

“I was just talking you up to her,” Linden goes on but I’m looking back at the bar. My drink is on the counter and Nicola is way down near the other end, serving other customers. Bollocks. Linden sure fucked up that one for me. But still. IKEA is on.

I pick up the drink and take a sip – damn, that’s even hotter than before – and with an internal sigh, turn around to face them. Well, since the blonde is in front of me and she looks just as agreeable as she did earlier, I guess I don’t really have anything to lose.

“You oughta try this, Paige,” I tell her, offering her the drink. “I dare you.”

“Okay,” she says, still smiling but sounding a bit nervous.

“Here, I’ll drink it first,” I tell her, having another sip and trying to hide the burn from showing on my face. “Sweetheart, I don’t need to put roofies in your drink in order to have sex with you.”

“Okaaaay,” Linden says slowly. “I’m going to go now.”

He heads to the washroom and I nod at his empty seat.

“Sit down and drink up,” I tell her. “But if you cough once, you forfeit the dare.”

“All right,” Paige says, wanting to be a good sport. She sits down and I slide the drink her way. She sniffs it before picking it up. Right before she has a sip her eyes catch mine. “Wait, if I cough, what happens?”

“We don’t know yet,” I tell her smoothly, leaning in close so that my knee brushes against hers. It feels all too easy to do this, to pick up a chick. It’s just as much fun as a good shag or two. But at the same time, there’s something prickling the back of my skull, telling me this probably isn’t a good idea. I think that’s the same part of my brain that doesn’t like me to have any fun. I call it Logic.

I watch as Paige has a sip of her drink. To her credit though, she doesn’t flinch. She gulps it down with a smile. I imagine she’d swallow my cum in the same way.

Now Logic’s friend Guilt decides to pop up. I’m not sure why, there’s nothing wrong nor different about my thoughts. Nicola couldn’t give a rat’s arse what I do or who I sleep with. I’m just her neighbor, her landlord, and maybe, just maybe her friend.

For now, anyway.

And perhaps that’s what’s stopping me from going home with Paige. The very minute possibility that one day down the road, I could be with Nicola. It’s unlikely but I’m suddenly unwilling to put it in jeopardy, not until I know for sure that the two of us have no chance together, not even for a hot fuck.

So, though I spend the rest of the evening talking and flirting with Paige, it’s all in good fun. I don’t see Nicola again, nor do I see Linden, so at the end of the night I ask if she wants to split a cab. She enthusiastically agrees, talking about how I must owe her something from drinking the drink so well.

But the only thing I owe Paige is the cab ride home. When we get in the back, it’s quite apparent from the way she’s rubbing my leg just what she thought we were doing and where we were going. I mean, I had told her something about fucking her earlier, hadn’t I?

Tonight, maybe for one of the first times ever, I end up being a cunt-tease. I get the cab to take her where she needs to go but when she gets out, she’s stunned that I’m not following.

“I have to get an early start tomorrow,” I explain, which is completely true now that IKEA is in the cards.

She looks pissed off and I can’t blame her. But still, she thanks me for the ride and tells me I should call her when I don’t have something – or anything – to do in the morning. Though she put her number in my phone earlier, I have no intention of calling her any time soon.

When I get home, the events of the day have taken some kind of toll on me. I feel a million different threads of want and need inside me, but more than that, this nervous, buzzing energy that has no outlet. I start thinking that maybe it was a mistake to drop Paige off, that she could be sucking my cock right now and distracting my mind. But who am I kidding? I wouldn’t be thinking of her at all and I know that it would make things worse.

I hear Nicola’s door open and the small chatter of her and Lisa next door, muffled through the walls, and I wonder if I should go on over. I almost do. I get up and go to the door, one hand on the handle. I want to make sure IKEA is still on. I want to make sure she’s okay. I want to thank her for the drink. I want to touch her hair, brush it behind her ears and get lost in her lips. I want to know what she tastes like – her mouth, her skin, her sweet little cunt. I want to experience every last drop on my tongue.

I’m lacking courage tonight. I stay in. Naturally the night turns into epic wank-fest part two and this time, this time I am loud. I don’t hold back and I don’t drown it out in music. I hope she can hear me.

I hope she likes what she hears.

CHAPTER NINE

Nicola

When I came home last night, I was in a bad mood. I guess it’s not much of a surprise that I wake in a bad one too. This was one of those cases that sleep did nothing to erase the worries of the day before. It’s still all there, simmering, and I don’t even understand why.

Luckily Ava gets up bright and early so I’m used to getting out of bed around seven am. I have no idea whether our IKEA excursion is still on for the day and I’ve regretted asking him since the moment it came out of my mouth.

I especially regretted it when Linden introduced some hot blonde to him and she immediately had his rapt attention. I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I guess because for a second, I thought maybe there was something more between us.

And yes, I know, something more is something bad. Always will be. But when his fingers brushed against mine, sending warm currents up my limb and down the middle of my back, when his eyes seemed so focused on me that I could almost see lightning in those grey clouds, I couldn’t help but imagine, just for a second, what it would be like if he were mine. Mine in bed, mine outside of it, it didn’t matter. But the thoughts – the lust – was there.

Unfortunately he ruined that pretty fast. I know what Linden was doing too, wanting Bram to stay the hell away from me. I couldn’t fault him and maybe I should have appreciated it. But for once, for damn once, I wanted to make all the big, bad mistakes.

The ugly, foggy light of a San Francisco morning puts things in a different perspective though. I try and shove those angry feelings away and wonder if Bram meant it when he said he would take us to IKEA. I heard him last night, moaning away. I actually went outside into the hall for a second, almost hypnotized by his cries, as if I were going to act out my fantasy for real this time. But I never knocked on his door, never opened it.

There’s a knock on my door now, though. I have to blink a few times, discerning if it was in my head or in real life. Then Ava says to me, through mouths of scrambled egg, “It’s the door, mommy.” Her eyes get bright. “Maybe it’s Santa.”

“Oh, I think you’ve gotten those letters mixed up there,” I say under my breath and get up to answer it. I give myself the once over in the mirror and decide, in my sleeping shorts and camisole, my hair greasy and my face dull, that I can’t possibly look any worse. I sigh before opening it.

There’s Satan all right on the other side, dressed in dark jeans, converse and white dress shirt that’s the kind of thin material you wouldn’t want to wear in the rain. Well, I wouldn’t want to wear it in the rain, he can gladly do so.

He looks me up and down but there’s no judgement in his eyes, only this slow burn, like a subtle version of the look I got last night. “You do remember we have a date right?”

I give him a look, back on my defenses. “It’s not a date. It’s a favor.”

“I’ve been on many dates that were favors and many favors that were dates.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Mind if I come in?”

I gesture to the apartment. “Come on in. I haven’t gotten around to the coffee yet.”

“You must be superhuman,” he says, striding past me as I close the door. He stops by the table, his palm out for Ava. “High five, little one.”

She smacks it and giggles as he goes into the kitchen and starts making coffee like he lives here. “So, Ava,” he says, his back to us. “How does that song of yours go?”

“Bram, no,” I warn. But it’s too late. She’s yelling it again at the top of her lungs.

“You know,” I tell him, raising my voice to be heard over her racket, “it’s lucky that you’re at least one of my neighbors. I have a feeling the old man to the left of here is going to complain about her singing one day.”

“He can complain all he wants, sweetheart, I’m the one in charge here.”

While he puts water into the reservoir, I can’t help but ask, “So, how did it all go last night?” I try to sound as breezy as possible but I feel it’s a mistake saying anything. I don’t want him to think I care. I don’t care. “I’m just curious,” I add in, as if that will make a difference. Because I am just curious. Nothing wrong with that.

“At the Lion?” he asks, flicking the pot on and then leaning back against the sink to face me. He crosses his arms and I do what I can to not focus on the taught bulk of them.

“Yeah.”

He tilts his head, inspecting me. “You were there. You tell me.”

I lick my lips and then shrug nonchalantly. “You seemed to hit it off with that girl that Linden introduced you to. I saw you guys leave in a cab together.”

“Did you now?” he asks. I love the way he says “now” with his accent, like “no” but sweeter.

“Mmm hmm,” I say, wishing I hadn’t said anything.

“And how did that make you feel?”

What, is he seriously asking me that? I give him a look. “I felt nothing except maybe a bit of pity for the girl who will be kicked to the curb in a few days.”

His forehead crinkles. “Is that so?”

“Stop answering me with questions.”

He lets out a little laugh. “Fair enough. For your information, it went nowhere. She went straight home from the bar.”

So the noises I heard last night…I fill in the blanks. They were all him again.

“And,” he says, straightening up and sauntering toward me, his massive form seeming to take all the space in the apartment suddenly, “for your information, the date with Justine ended the same way.”

“Two nights in a row and no sex,” I comment.

“That’s right,” he says calmly. “It happens. Usually when my mind is preoccupied. Why fuck somebody if you can’t stop thinking about someone else?”

Oh my shit. Is he talking about me?

Of course he’s talking about you, I quickly tell myself. But still, even knowing that’s probably true, there’s no part of me that’s prepared to handle any of this. Bram gave up screwing both those hot babes because he was thinking about me? Miss Single Mom with scars and stretch marks and who, at the moment, is wearing the ugliest night garment ever?

He’s joking though. Beneath that smolder in his gaze, beneath that somewhat wicked twist to his mouth, it’s all a joke like it always is. Bram the jokester, Bram forever pulling my leg.

He has to be joking.

“Mommy,” Ava suddenly says, appearing between the two of us. It takes me a moment to tear my eyes off of him and look at her.

“Y-yes, angel?” I ask her, surprised at how my voice is shaking. I’m also surprised at all the other feelings coursing through me, the physical ones that make the situation extra inappropriate.

“You said we’re going on an adventure today,” she says. “Where are we going?”

Right. IKEA. I can feel Bram’s eyes still on me and I don’t dare look at him. I don’t think I’m ready for the truth, no matter which way it spins.

“To a store to get us a new couch,” I tell her.

She looks at the couch, puzzled. “But I like our couch,” she says with her lower lip trembling. “It’s my castle.”

My heart melts and I automatically crouch to her level, pulling her under my arm. “I know you do, Ava, but where we’re going we are going to get a better couch. Maybe two couches! And you know what?”

“What?’ she asks quietly.

“There’s a magical room there called the ball room,” I tell her. “Remember when we watched that movie and you saw the kid hiding underneath all the balls.” Unfortunately I think I’m remembering the movie Traffic, which she most certainly did not watch with me, but she doesn’t need to know that. “It’s so much fun. When I was a kid, it was almost as good as Christmas.”

Now she’s looking at me like I’m damn crazy.

“It’s true,” Bram says and she looks up at him. “You’re about to have a very fun adventure. Are you ready, little one?”

Because she’s so in love with Bram, her eyes light up and she smiles, nodding vigorously. I’d be jealous of him if I wasn’t feeling a whole whack of other things, especially in my uterus. It’s like it’s kicking at me – hey, Nicola, hey, he’s a good one – and I think I may have to put my uterus, vagina, and heart into some sort of holding cell where only my brain has the lock and key.

He eyes me with a lazy kind of excitement. “Are you ready?”

I take in a deep breath and manage a smile. “Let me just put on some clothes and run a brush through my hair.”

“You’re perfect just the way you are, babe,” he says. “Though those nipples of yours seem to be vying for my attention.”

I look down at my chest and see them poking through my thin top like they’re trying to tunnel their way out. Shit.

I slap my hands over them and hurry on over to my bedroom, wishing I could start the morning over and yet oddly giddy about where it’s been so far.

***

When we pull into the IKEA parking lot in Emeryville, I’m surprised that it isn’t full. Then again, even though it’s Sunday, it’s still early. I glance at the clock on the slick dashboard of the Mercedes and it’s 9:50, ten minutes till opening. I wonder if this is what middle age is going to feel like, trying to beat the crowds or snag a deal by going early.

Then I look over at Bram, whose hand is still on the gearshift, and for a split second I imagine more grey in his hair. I imagine more stubble on his gorgeous chin and lines by his eyes. I imagine him older and I imagine myself older, and a teenage Ava in the backseat.

My heart seems to expand at the thought, feeling whole, complete. Then it stutters, as if it’s something it can’t even begin to comprehend and I feel embarrassed that my mind even went there for a moment. Holy moly, what the hell has gotten into me?

“Let’s go to the doors,” I say quickly, opening the door and getting out of the car. I can tell Bram is puzzled by my abrupt departure but I need to clear my head and focus on the task at hand. Couch, couch, couch. Swedish furnishings. Mesh pits filled with balls. One-dollar hot dogs.

By the time we get to the doors though, after wrangling Ava out of the booster seat and making sure I have sliced apples, a small bit of juice, the insulin pen and glucose monitor just in case, the store is open for business. Still it’s relatively quiet and we’re lucky that the ball pit isn’t all full. Ava is measured to make sure she’s tall enough to go in and then we leave her there with the daycare, which gives us about an hour on our own, just enough to look around the store and then pick her up for lunch.

I watch her for a few minutes as she slowly approaches the edge of the pit, watching the kids who are already in it. She’s never been that shy with other kids but I haven’t really exposed her to them either. I guess I just don’t have any friends who have kids – something that happens when you have a kid early and out of wedlock.

One child, a boy a few good inches taller that her, swims through the balls and then stops in front of her. He grins, toothless and then throws a ball at her. It bounces right at her head and before I know it, I’m ready to run to the pit, scoop Ava up and call that little shit what he really is.

But Bram has grabbed hold of my arm and he’s pulling me back and to him.

“Easy, mum,” he murmurs in my ear. I let him hold me and we watch as Ava picks up the ball and throws it right back at the boy. It hits him square in the chest and she scowls at him before walking off to the other side of the pit where a girl with red pigtails bounces up to her.

“He’s not much different from you,” I mutter as my heart rate turns back to normal.

Bram still has his hand around my bicep and he lowers it down my arm, his fingers skimming over my skin until I’m certain he’s going to grab onto my hand and hold it. But then he pulls away all together. “And Ava knows just how to deal with boys like me, just like her mum has. Shall we?”

I know we won’t get anything done if I keep standing in by the play center. I watch as other moms come and drop off their kids and then hurry away into the store as if they can’t wait to be done with them. I’m so used to being around Ava all the time that it’s hard not to have her with me if I can help it. But this is good for her and it’s good for me. It has to be.

I give Bram a small smile and we go up the massive staircase and into the rest of the store.

“So,” Bram muses as the floor plans make us start in the living room set ups, just where we need to be. “What kind of couch are you looking for?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. A cheap one.” I eye a humungous sectional right in front of us. “A small one. And one that doesn’t tear easy.”

Bram plops down on the sectional and puts his feet up on the coffee table, making himself right at home. “Well, I hate to break this to you but IKEA isn’t exactly known for their quality. Cheap, yes.”

But I’m no longer listening to him. Instead, my eyes are drawn toward his socks on display. Again, they are the ugly brown and yellow ones with the loch ness monster all over them.

“Okay,” I say, nodding at them, “this is the second time I’ve seen you wear them. What is up with the socks?”

He looks at his ankles, as if he’s surprised to see his feet there. “Oh these? Lucky socks.” But when he smiles at me, there is something hard in those eyes of his. It’s a look I don’t see too often and even though I immediately want to dissect it and figure out what it means, I know I shouldn’t. I’m the queen of deflection and that look tells me he’d give me a run for my money.

Instead I say, “Are they lucky? They are the ugliest things I’ve ever seen. Doesn’t really go with your whole outfit.”

The dark look passes and he eyes me with mocking sincerity. “Are you taking an interest in what I wear?”

“It did used to be my job,” I say. “I mean, I dressed mannequins but I made sure they were the best dressed mannequins in the whole of SF.”

“I believe it,” he says. “For a woman without a lot of money, you sure manage to make yourself look like a million dollars.” He gets up off the couch and I’m kind of stunned at the compliment. Believe it or not, it means more to me than he could know. I used to have a fashion blog years ago when it was cool and profitable, and I took so much pride in how I dressed. Now, it just didn’t seem important anymore.

No, scratch that. It wasn’t that it wasn’t important. It’s just I found it no better than the crazy glue holding my kitchen table together. I could dress up but deep down I was still a fucking mess.