Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“What vibe?”
“His game,” Cher pointed out. “He had one on the line.”
“He is trying to take someone home,” Bon asserted. “He has several prospects. There are a lot of handsome men hovering around.”
Nice of Bon, who was straight, to notice I was being checked out.
“You can be my wingman,” I told Bon.
“I would be far better than this one,” he said, indicating Lang.
“Where are these guys?” Lang asked, and really, I didn’t see them either, but Bon was excellent at surveillance, so if he vouched for my prospects, they had to be there.
“I am not goin’ to see a play like this,” I stated firmly, back to the subject at hand, gesturing at my very tight jeans showing off all my assets and the T-shirt that told everyone it was cold in the sports bar.
“No, I know. I stopped at your place and got you clothes and shoes.”
Of course he had, he was thorough like that, and he had keys to my apartment because who else was I going to give them to?
I stared at him, he waited with crossed arms, and like always, I gave in and we went and saw a play. And I loved it, and we had dinner after and drinks and finally dessert in Chinatown.
The following Monday at work, Lopez wanted to know why my partner didn’t want me to get laid.
“He’s oblivious when I’m on the prowl,” I said dramatically, elongating the words for her, making my hands into claws for emphasis.
“Oh dear God, you’re both freaks. You deserve each other.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She was done talking and left me watching her walk away.
“Why is Lopez talking to herself?” Lang asked when he reached me, having passed her in the hall.
“I have no idea.”
Lang, in contrast to me, did not have trouble picking people up, so much so that at various times, we would be walking through a Jewel or a Safeway, and suddenly I would be yanked down behind the apples in the produce section, shoved down the frozen-food aisle, or have his groceries pushed at me before he bolted from the store. Moments later would come the text, the list of what else he needed.
I would call then. “Who did you see?”
“My optometrist’s assistant.”
“You realize you’ll have to see that woman again when you go back to get your eyes checked, right?”
“In like, two years. It’s every two years, buddy. Why would I need to go before that?”
There were small things, ridiculous things, that made a date a one-and-done for him. Issues that, I had to agree with his sister, seemed more like excuses than anything else.
“What was wrong with the reporter?” Talia asked him over dinner at Bacchanalia. She was having fettuccini Alfredo, and I was having lasagna. He was enjoying sausage and peppers, his favorite.
“Oh wait,” I ordered him, swallowing a bite of lasagna and taking a sip of my sangiovese that Lang had ordered for me that I really liked. “Okay, g’head, tell her.”
“What?” he snapped at me. “She had really symmetrical features. There was nothing interesting about her face at all.”
When Talia turned to me, I nearly choked on my spit. “See, this is why I had to make sure I wasn’t drinkin’ nothin’.”
“She has symmetrical features?” she repeated irritably. “You know that’s one of the internationally accepted signs of beauty, right?”
He grimaced.
“And the nice lady who teaches third grade?”
“She laughed weird.”
Again, she turned to me.
“Listen,” I began, “none of this is my fault. So don’t be lookin’ at me like I’m supposed to be his moral compass over here.”
Her groan was loud before she went back to glaring at her brother. “What about my friend Darcy?”
“Who?”
“She works at Sutter with me? We’re both in acquisitions. Is this ringing any bells?”
“Is she tall?”
I had no idea why she kept glancing over at me like him not remembering who in the city of Chicago he had or hadn’t dated was my fault. “This has nothin’ to do with me,” I repeated defensively. “Why am I in trouble?”
“You’re supposed to be a good influence on him.”
“Absolutely not,” I declared.
“Did you even call Darcy?” she asked him pointedly.
He looked to me for help.
“She’s the blonde,” I reminded him. “You went for Thai, and she wanted the two of you to share entrées.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he said, drawing the words out and looking utterly appalled. He turned to his sister. “Listen to this. We’re ordering, and she says she wants to try more things on the menu, so could I order my chicken pad thai medium instead of Thai hot.”
She squinted at him. “And?”
“What do you mean and? That’s insane.”
“Why is that insane?”
“He can’t just change his order to medium at his regular Thai place,” I explained to her.
“One time? He can’t order it medium one time?”
“Are you kidding?” Lang was horrified. “Do you know how long it took me to get the chef there to trust that I would eat it how he made it and never send it back? We have an understanding that took years to build from back when I was a homicide detective.”