Part 2 (2/2)
”He looks like a mortician. Or a pedophile.”
She giggles and downs the rest of her martini.
Leaning close to her, I ask, ”If not a banker, what do I look like?”
She smiles slowly and sc.r.a.pes the olives off the toothpick with her teeth.
”You look like a Chippendales dancer.”
Fabulous answer. I don't really need to explain to you why, do I?
In a low, seductive voice I say, ”I do have some great moves. If banking doesn't work out, Chippendales is Plan B.”
I motion to the bartender for another round. Delores watches him work closely, and he must not screw it up too badly, because she smiles when he places the drink before her.
Then, she says to me, ”So . . . your buddy Drew-he's been giving my girl a hard time. Not a smart thing to do.”
”Drew has a weird relations.h.i.+p with compet.i.tion. He thrives on it, but it also p.i.s.ses him off. Kate hasn't exactly been taking it easy on him, either. She brings her A-game to the office-I think she can hold her own.”
”Well, you feel free to let him know he should watch his step. I'm very protective of Katie-we Ohioans stick together.”
”But you're in New York now. We're 'Every Man for His-f.u.c.king-Self.' It's the second state motto-right after 'The City That Never Sleeps.'”
Her eyes s.h.i.+ne as she laughs. And I think the first drink might be hitting her hard.
”You're cute,” she tells me.
My head leans back in exasperation. ”Great. Cute. The adjective every man wants to hear.”
She laughs again, and I'm struck by how much I'm enjoying myself. Dee Warren is a cool girl-unreserved, quick-witted, funny. Even if I don't end up nailing her, the night won't be a total loss.
That's not to say I'm not dying to get her out of here and see what's-or, preferably, what's not-under those tiny shorts. But, it'd be like rich icing on an already f.u.c.k-awesome cake.
I veer back toward small talk. ”You're from Ohio?”
She tastes her drink and nods. ”Yes, the original Podunk, USA.”
”Mmm, no love for the hometown?”
”No, Greenville was a great town to grow up in, but it's sort of like the Hotel California. People check in, but they almost never leave. If all you want out of life is to get married and have babies, it's the place to be. But . . . that wasn't what I was looking for.”
”What are you looking for, Dee?”
She thinks for a moment before she answers. ”I want . . . life. Newness. Discovery. Change. It's why I like the city so much. It's alive-never stagnant. You can walk down a block and go down that same block a week later and it'll be totally different. New people, new sights and smells-the smells aren't always good, but that's a small price to pay.”
I chuckle.
Then she goes on. ”My mom used to say I reminded her of a dog on a leash that never learned how to heel. Always pulling on the chain, raring to go. There's a country song with lyrics I like: 'I don't want easy, I want crazy.'” She shrugs, a little shyly. ”That's me.”
Everything she said-they're my favorite parts about the city I grew up in too. Life is too d.a.m.n short to stay safe, to stay the same.
My cell phone buzzes, but I ignore it. Checking your phone in the middle of a conversation, even if it's with a one-nighter, is just rude. Low cla.s.s.
Dee asks me what my Zodiac sign is, but I make her tell me hers first. Some people are really into signs-I've been ditched on more than one occasion by a horrified Leo or Aquarius when they found out I'm a Capricorn. Since then, I'm not above fudging my birth date if needed.
In this case, I didn't have to. Dee's a Scorpio, which is supposed to be super hot with Capricorns in the sack. Personally, I think the whole thing is a crock of s.h.i.+t. But, if you want to play, you've got to know the rules of the game. Including potential fouls.
Dee nurses her second drink as the conversation turns toward family and friends. Without getting too deep, she tells me about Billy, her more-like-a-brother cousin, and her single mother who raised them both. She touches on her lifelong friends.h.i.+p with Kate Brooks and a few surprising wild-child incidents during their teen years that are just too embarra.s.sing not to mention to Kate at the office tomorrow.
I fill her in on Drew and Steven and Alexandra and how growing up with them saved me from ever feeling like an only child. I tell her about the coolest four-year-old I know, Mackenzie, and that I would hang with that kid every day of the week if I could.
By the time I finish my fourth beer, two and a half hours have flown by. When Dee hits the bathroom, I whip out my phone.
I have six texts. They're all from Steven.
s.h.i.+t. Call of Duty. I forgot.
They vary in their degrees of panic. Wanna see?
Dude ur late-starting without you **
Come on, man, I'm in the s.h.i.+t and outnumbered. Where the h.e.l.l r u?
Where's the G.o.dd.a.m.n aerial support? My men are dying out there!
Not going out like this-taking as many of them with me as I can. Ahhhhhhhh!
Thanks a lot, dumba.s.s. I'm dead. If you make a move on my widow I'll haunt you.
And finally, the last one just says: f.u.c.ker.
I laugh out loud and send him an apologetic text, telling him something suddenly came up. Steven's great at reading between the lines: You mean your d.i.c.k suddenly came up. What happened to bros before hoes? You owe me. I expect payment in the form of babysitting hours so I can take my wife out . . . or stay in. ;) Personally, I think he spends too much time with his wife as it is-as demonstrated by the winky face in his text.
Dee comes back from the bathroom and stands close to my chair. ”You want to get out of here?”
Yes, please.
With a devastating grin, I answer, ”Absolutely. You want to go to my place? I'd love to show you the view.”
She glances at my crotch. ”What view would that be?”
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