Page 29 of The Wife Situation

“Actually, yeah.” She pauses. “I was thinking about how I needed to thank you for what you had done, and then you were magically standing outside of my apartment. Well, Weston was, but I thought it was you.”

“So,you were thinking about me?”

A smile plays on her lips. “I guess you could say that.”

The bartender picks up our empty glasses. He gives Alexis another drink before helping someone at the other end of the bar.

“Curious.Howdid Weston get you to join him?”

She laughs. “Had he not shown up in that white 1967 Mustang Shelby GT500, Iwouldn’tbe here.”

My jaw clenches. “Son of a bitch.”

“Oh, so thatisyours?” she asks like she’s impressed.

“Yeah, I have athingfor muscle cars,” I admit.

She stares at me for a few seconds too long. “It’s a beautiful car. The clutch felt great. Lots of power. I was cheated though because I couldn’t open her up on the highway and cruise.”

I hold up my hand. “Wait. Wait a second. He let youdrive?”

“He mentioned he never letsanyonedrive his vehicles. So, I made it my stipulation, and hehappilyhanded me the keys,” she says. “That should’ve been a dead giveaway that something was up. I have a feeling you wouldn’t have fallen for that and would’ve renegotiated somehow.”

“I’m sure he thought that was fucking hilarious.” I glance over at her. “And you’re right. No one drives my cars. I would’ve renegotiated.”

“You said … cars. As in plural.”

“Yeah. Lots,” I admit. “But I’m impressed.”

Alexis turns to me with her eyebrows raised. “Why? Didn’t think I could drive a standard?”

“Mainly because you knew the year, make, and model—355 horsepower, V8. It was when the Shelby GT was introduced to the Mustang line. The introduction and birth to all muscle cars, dare I say.”

“Mmm. I don’t think I realized that,” she says. “Makes it even more special then.”

Her smile falters for a split second, but she pushes it away.

“What were you just thinking about?” I ask because curiosity takes hold.

She takes a sip of her drink. “You’re good at reading people.”

“Paying attention is one of my best qualities. You’ll learn that.” I pause for a few seconds, capturing her gaze. “When I was younger, I was shy and didn’t talk much. I watched how people interacted for years. Because of that, it’s easy for me to pick up on subtle nuances, like nervous tics and tells. When people’s energy shifts. And I have an impeccable judgment of character.”

“And you still got me fired,” she says, shaking her head.

“Yeah, I think that’s why I felt—and still feel—guilty. Because I realized I’d overreacted.”

“Mr. Calloway, do you actually have a heart?” Her voice has a hint of sarcasm, but she’s playful. And she sounds like my damn brother.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I say with a smirk. “Might ruin my reputation.”

The jukebox in the corner plays an old rock song and chatter fills the space. It’s a Friday night in June, and the place is growing more crowded. I was supposed to be catching up with my brother, but instead, I’m here with Alexis, sharing my truths. I’m not complaining.

“What do you see when you look at me?” she asks.

“Do you want the truth or a lie?” It’s an honest question. Some people can’t handle the truth. I believe Alexis can.

She doesn’t act like anyone I’ve met, and she sure as fuck doesn’t care about me, my life, or who I am. Being unfazed by me is her best quality.

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