Page 55 of Biggest Player
“Oh!” she declares. “How long have you been waiting? I was on the treadmill and didn’t hear you knock.”
Treadmill my ass.
She isn’t wearing workout clothes, and she sure isn’t wearing sneakers.
Margot pulls the door all the way open and sidesteps, allowing me room so I can enter her place; the small foyer is cute and cozy. Her condo is larger than it looks from the outside, with high ceilings and tall doorframes.
It’s modern and chic.
Huh.
My head is on a swivel as I walk toward the kitchen. She has an open layout, and I can see the sink from the door, taking in the light-gray couch, the dark-gray tile surrounding the fireplace, the shiplap accent wall, and dark beams across the ceiling.
The backsplash in her kitchen is dark gray too. Stainless steel appliances.
The place is spotless.
“Wanna show me what the problem is, ma’am?” I tease, setting the toolbox on the stone counter.
“You’re going to just jump right into it?” She laughs. “No foreplay? No ‘How have you been?’”
I didn’t realize she wanted niceties, but if she wants to chat before I try to fix her plumbing, who am I to argue?
“How have you been?” I ask, because she told me to, grinning when she giggles.
“I could use a drink.”
“Same.”
Margot nods, going around to the other side of the counter and pulling open a cabinet. It has a crisp white door, and inside are white plates, stacked neatly above cut-crystal drinking glasses.
She takes out two and sets them on the counter.
“What’ll it be?”
“Got any beer?” That’s an easy enough request, yeah?
She pulls a face. “Er. Not really, but I can make you something? I have Coke and vodka.” She scratches her head. “Rum. And wine? That’s all I have, sorry. Maybe once I start dating someone, I’ll stock up.”
I almost say “Ouch,” but then I remember—she and I are not dating. She and I are not flirting. We are not looking for the same things.
“I’ll do wine, thanks.”
She hesitates. “Uh—is it okay if I put it in this glass?”
“You don’t have wineglasses?” I ask critically. “Everyone has wineglasses.”
She shrugs. “I don’t sit around drinking wine, so I’m not about to run out and spend money on something I don’t need.”
Fair enough.
I watch as she removes a bottle of white wine from a different cabinet, then watch as she hands it over to me.
I peel off the metal wrapping, then twist off the top, pulling out the cork.
“Thanks.” She smiles, pouring as I ease onto a barstool, gazing at her as I would a bartender. “You’re so strong.”
I blink at her.
