Page 21 of Love and the Laws of Motion
“Emergency.She needed some fresh rosemary.”
“Only Gemma would consider fresh rosemary an emergency,” she muttered.
“She’ll be back soon.”Clyde’s eyes cut to Nick, full of curiosity.Livie had never brought a guy to the bar.Or anyone else, come to think of it.There was no one to bring.
Livie nudged Nick toward the bar.“Have a seat.”
He fell heavily onto a stool and planted his elbows on the bar, lowering his head into his hands.
“Your friend okay, Livie?”Clyde asked cautiously.
“Clyde, this is Nick.He’s had a rough day.He needs a drink.”
Clyde wiped his hands on his dish towel and threw it over his shoulder.“I think we can take care of that.What’ll ya have, my man?”
Nick lifted his head enough to reply.“A beer.No, wait.Vodka.Straight up.”
“Got a preference?”
“You have Tito’s Handmade or Reyka?”
Clyde snorted.“We got Smirnoff’s.Grey Goose, if you’re feeling fancy.”
“Grey Goose it is, then.”
Clyde grabbed the bottle and poured several fingers of vodka into a glass in front of Nick.“Good for what ails you.Livie?Soda?”
“Thanks, Clyde.”
When Clyde had left to get her drink, Nick lifted his glass in Livie’s direction.“Here’s to oblivion.”
She watched in silence as he tossed it back, wincing only slightly.This might be a very long night.
Clyde slid a ginger ale in front of her and wordlessly refilled Nick’s glass.He set the bottle in front of Livie.“I’ll leave this here.You good, Liv?”
“We’re fine.”
When Clyde had moved down the bar to pour refills for Dennis and Frank, Livie turned to face Nick.“Maybe she’ll change her mind.”
She probably would, right?Relationships often got patched up after fights.By tomorrow, maybe Poppy would have rethought the whole thing.Which would be good, Livie told herself firmly.Look how miserable Nick was.Of course she hoped he’d get back together with Poppy.It would be selfish—and pointless—to wish for anything else.
Nick took a sip of his vodka this time, instead of slamming it all back, as he stared into the middle distance.“She wasn’t wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
“Ihateher friends.All these fake-ass pretentious fashion people.She’s a model.Did I tell you that?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“She doesn’t get a lot of work.It’s hard to break in.And you need to start when you’re, like, sixteen.It’s creepy as fuck, that industry.”
“How does she afford that amazing apartment?”
“Her dad.”He downed the rest of his drink before swiping the vodka bottle from in front of her and refilling his glass.Moderation hadn’t lasted long.
“Her father bought it for her?”
“Yep.She said she wanted to come to New York and try modeling, and no way was his kid going to slum it in an apartment share like everybody else.So he shelled out four mill for her own personal luxury crash pad.”
