Page 11 of Flirting with Forever

He blinked. Took a deep breath. He was a grown man. With a law degree. His heart should not be shivering in his chest just because he’d gotten an unexpected text from a pretty girl. A very pretty girl. Okay, theprettiestgirl.

And the sweetest one. She’d have to be if she was willing to forgive him for his multiple social faux pas that he’d already committed. He hadn’t saved her number into his phone when she’d given it, simply because he hadn’t thought she’d ever actually text him. His conscience, poking at him after all the rude things he’d accidentally said to her, had made him offer up his services, but he hadn’t bothered to hope that she’d take him up on it. What woman wanted further contact with a man who’d already effectively called her desperate and old?

But there she was, sending him a text that was already two minutes old. Then the meaning of her text filtered down onto John. If she was texting him the name Elijah Crawford, then that meant that his mother was considering setting Mary up with that douchenozzle.

“What?” John whispered to himself. His mother was a reasonable woman usually. What was with this psycho matchmaking thing she was doing?

He typed his response out.Veto.

He tossed his phone back down and got through one more page of paperwork before she texted back.

Why?

John sighed and typed out,Because he intentionally spilled apple juice on the crotch of my pants in third grade, tripped me down the stairs in fifth grade and stole my prom date in high school.

He stared at his unsent words, the cursor still blinking on his screen. A flush of embarrassment rose hot out of his collar as he pictured sending those words to gorgeous Mary Trace. He immediately erased them. He’d botched his chance with her, he was very clear on that point, but that didn’t mean he needed to inform her just how much of a nerd he used to be.

He’s a bully, John texted. He thought for a second and texted another line.And not a good listener. You won’t have fun.

Okay, she texted back a minute later.I’ll tell Estrella I’m busy. Thanks!

As John was reading, one last text came through, an emoji of a shiny, smiling sun, its rays waving at him, reminding him of Mary’s sunny, wavy hair. A weird jolt went through him as he looked down at the little image. It should be meaningless. It was just something she’d absently clicked on and sent. But for some reason, for a split second, John wondered if it was personal. If she purposefully picked it and sent it his way, actively wanting to send him a little sunshine.

He found himself frowning down at his phone screen. It was nice of her to send, he supposed. But what the hell was he supposed to text back? The only person who ever texted him emojis was Richie, and John ignored each and every one of them. Was it rude to ignore Mary’s emoji?

Deciding, on principle, that he couldn’t afford to care, John turned his phone to silent and exited out of the text strand.

Juggling anywhere between thirty and forty cases at a time, John found he didn’t often have the time for indulgences like texting pretty girls. Especially not when he had two separate murder-one cases in his caseload plus that sex trafficking case that was keeping him up at night.

But none of those cases were where he needed his brain to be today. Today was all about Serge Raoul. He was a thirty-eight-year-old charged with felony assault who John had to prep for court. Normally, he’d meet with a client four or five times before the big show. He’d have clocked anywhere from ten to twenty hours of face time with them. But Raoul was rougher around the edges than most people. This would already be John’s seventh time meeting with him and lately the meetings had more the feel of a play rehearsal than they did a legal meeting. Raoul seemed almost passionately committed to perjuring himself on the stand. If he didn’t stick to the talking points that John had painstakingly prepared for him this time, John might have to go the rare route of not letting his client testify. Raoul had a motor mouth and a very twisted way of viewing the truth. There was no telling how the jury would perceive him.

He didn’t usually like to overprepare his clients, because then they could come off as rehearsed, like the truth was something they’d had to memorize. But in this case, as John carefully packed the flash cards he’d made into his messenger bag, he figured that might be the lesser of two evils. He refused to let Raoul run roughshod over the stand and get himself sent up.

John didn’t allow himself another look at his cell phone before he slipped it into the pocket of his trousers. He had work to do. A man’s freedom to salvage.

ITWASFRIDAYNIGHT, when he was out at a bar close to the Brooklyn Supreme Court with Richie on the barstool beside him, that John got the next text from Mary.

Michael Fallon.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” John muttered. Michael Fucking Fallon? Was his mother playing some sort of sick joke on Mary?

Hard veto.

Why?

Drug dealer.

You’re joking.

Wish I were.

Which kind of drugs?

John gaped at the text, trying to interpret her response.Does it matter?

Well, sometimes people have good reasons for doing bad things, she texted back after a few minutes.In my opinion, there’s a difference between selling dime bags and selling heroin.

John barked a laugh into the palm of his hand. He’d expected blonde, obviously rich Mary to go screaming toward the hills at any mention of theDword. Huh. Maybe she’d gotten really intoBreaking BadorThe Wireor something.

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