Page 32 of A Favor Owed

“Oh, hey, before I forget,” she says as we start heading toward the law school. “I was thinking about that personal jurisdiction case…” And she launches into a series of hypothetical situations that she’s concocted. The girl is smart, I’ll give her that. We talk about her hypos for the ten-minute walk to class and keep going until our professor shows up. Not a moment too soon, either. Between her rapid-fire “but what if’s” and the smell of her skin and the memory of what that mouth felt like against mine, my head is spinning by the time I have to turn my attention to the mechanics of writing a legal memo.

After class, I chat with some friends as we head out of the classroom, keeping Angie in my peripheral vision. I need to move on this fast if I’m going to get intel for Lou.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” I say when I see Angie head to the library by herself.

I follow her in and find her seated at a table by a window toward the back. I stand across from her, and my shadow falls over her laptop. She looks up with mild surprise.

“Mind if I sit here?” I ask.

I try not to let her slight hesitation dent my ego. “No,” she says. “It’s fine.”

I pull out the chair, sit down, and lean forward on my elbows. I cut right to the chase. “I owe you a date, Angie Pines.”

“Um, well, okay, I guess…” she says, rolling her eyes. I swear you could power Manhattan with her eye rolls.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I say in a hushed announcer voice, “we’re here with Olympic ball-buster Angela Pines, and correct me if I’m wrong, George, but she seems to be… Wait… Could it be? Yes, George, she is almost smiling at her opponent, triple gold-medalist charmer Brady McDaniels. I agree, Bob. It does appear that the ball-busting champion of the world is about to crack a smile.”

She bursts out laughing, then covers her mouth and looks around to make sure no one heard her.

“You’re ridiculous,” she says, her face flushed.

“Not gonna argue with you, princess. When are you free?” I ask her.

“I work all weekend,” she says hesitantly, still pink in the face from laughing. “Tuesday and Wednesday are my nights off.”

“Tomorrow night it is,” I say, lightly slapping the table and sitting back in my chair. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

She swallows. “Okay.”

“See ya.” I stand up to leave, mission accomplished.

“See ya,” she says, sounding as bored as if she were in Property class. Her eyes are already back on her laptop screen. I shake my head slightly and leave. The attitude on this girl is unbelievable. When I get to the exit, I glance behind me, my instincts telling me she’s not as bored by me as she pretends.

Sure enough, I catch her full-on looking at me.

“Busted,” I mouth to her, and I’m rewarded with a blushing Angie Pines smile.

Chapter Thirteen

Angela

A date with Brady. Why am I going on a date with Brady? I mean, of all people. He lived in the same borough where I went to college, for God’s sake. The Bronx is a big place, but still…the coincidence…

The coincidence.

Is it a coincidence? How much do I really know about Brady? My family isn’t exactly small-time or low profile. My picture has been in the society pages every now and then, usually at a fundraiser for a charity that didn’t mind where the money was coming from. But Brady doesn’t seem like the kind of person to be reading the salacious offerings ofPage Six. He’s 100 percent a sports news kind of guy. Still…

Well, we’re going out tomorrow. That will give me an opportunity to find out a little more.

The next day, I rummage through my tiny closet and pull clothes out of my broken-down dresser, trying to figure out what to wear. What would say, “I’m not trying too hard,” “You’re cute, but I don’t entirely trust you,” and “I wouldn’t mind kissing you some more,” all at the same time? I try on a pair of skinny jeans with a thrift-store flowered halter top that comes to rest just above my hips, revealing about a quarter inch of skin.

I sigh, not pleased with my outfit but reminding myself that I’m not going to try too hard with Brady. Maybe this “date” isn’t such a good idea. Aside from knowing nothing about Brady, I need to keep him knowing nothing about me.

But he’s so, so cute, and funny, and an outrageously good kisser.

Okay, outfit change. I frantically go through my closet and drawers again. Every spare dime I have goes to thrift store clothes, and they’re starting to crowd me out. But clothes are one addiction that I haven’t been able to shake. I just spend pennies on them instead of thousands of dollars.

This time I settle on a short, flirty halter dress in thin aqua cotton with a pattern of yellow flowers. I add a bronze chain belt and top it off with a pair of Jimmy Choo hiker booties that I couldn’t bring myself to part with. I’m applying my makeup when a knock at the door makes me jump and smear my eyeliner. Cursing under my breath, I quickly clean up the mess with a tissue.

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