Page 36 of Loverboy
“Oh.” Now I understand Max’s trickery. If the camera isn’t broadcasting a signal, Smith would have a lot more trouble detecting it in his room. “So you’ll have to recover it soon.”
“Sure. It will run out of juice in about…” He looks at his smart watch. “Eight days. You and me and Scout will go in there and pick it up while he’s out at a meeting. Even if he’s monitoring his room, we’ll be history by the time he gets back.”
“Okay.” That op sounds like fun. Except for one problem. “Just remember—I work seven to four most days. And don’t fuck with my lunch break.”
Max snickers. “I wouldn’t dare.”
10
Gunnar
At nine,after my friends and I have finished both our dinner and our meeting, I take a car back down to SoHo. I get out on Spring Street and consider my next move. Tomorrow is my day off from the pie shop, so I don’t have to go to bed at ten o’clock tonight like a loser.
Across the street is The Alley Cocktail Lounge, where I can see a TV through the window. There’s a baseball game on the screen. The Mets are playing tonight, barely ten miles away from here.
The sight of the baseball diamond on the green glare of the screen puts an unwelcome tug in the center of my chest. As a kid, I used to watch the Mets with my dad. Back when life was simpler. It wasn’t ever simple, but I didn’t know that. I was just a little boy who sat beside his father on our living room couch in Queens. We don’t speak to each other anymore, and I’ve been avoiding New York baseball for a long time because it reminds me of him.
But I wonder how the Mets are doing tonight.
My feet are moving before I even realize it. Taking care not to get run over by a taxi, I cross the street and head into the bar.
“Gunn!” calls Jerome, the bartender. “Long time no see! Where’ve you been, man? Sit down and have a beer.” He puts a coaster down in front of the only empty bar stool.
“It’s been months, right?” I pull out the stool, and just as I’m sliding onto it, I happen to glance at the woman on the next bar stool. Her head is down because she’s reading a book. But I'd know the graceful line of her neck anywhere.
Posy Paxton is reading a novel in the middle of a crowded bar on a Friday night, a half-drunk dirty Martini in front of her.
The baseball game is immediately forgotten. So is Jerome, for that matter. Because Posy is wearing one of those tops with a neckline that’s wider than necessary. It’s slid down on one side, revealing one smooth, tantalizing shoulder. There’s a frown of concentration on her kissable face. And the cherry on this libido sundae is the way her wavy hair is loosely collected by a ribbon that looks like it would slide out if I gave it just the barest of tugs. My hand tingles with the urge to do exactly that.
I don’t, of course. ButChrist. Normally I don't ogle every woman like she's my own personal dessert buffet. But this one always stopped me in my tracks. And since she doesn't look up from that book, there's no one to stop my gaze from sliding all over her body.
Get a grip, Scott. I clear my throat, preparing to say hello. She turns the page of her book, oblivious. “Posy Paxton,” I say, my voice full of gravel. “You really know how to party.”
If I’d expected her to startle, I’m disappointed. “Don't judge,” she says calmly. “This book and I are in the best relationship of my life. This book listens when I talk. This book will never stand me up.”
“Does it put the toilet seat down, too?” I chuckle at my own joke. “But wait—did you get stood up tonight? That's hard to imagine.”
“Is it?” She finally looks up at me. “One year ago tonight, my husband asked me to open our marriage. The ink is barely dry on our divorce. And now he's having a baby with a professional lifestyle guru who's barely legal to drink.”
“Lifestyle guru? That's ajob?”
“Seriously?” Posy gives me a glare. “That's what shocks you about this whole situation?”
“Well, yeah. Because I’m pretty hard to shock when it comes to the shitty things men will do. Your guy blowing up his life just so he can stick it in a sweet young thing who gives his ego a BJ every day? Sorry, honey. That’s just not shocking. Men have been pulling that since the dawn of time.”
“Glad to hear it,” Posy says between gritted teeth.
“—But making money telling other people how to live? Now that's a trick.”
“I suppose you're right.” She sighs. “But I don’t have to like her.”
“True,” I agree. “And it’s not like she needs to make a ton of cash. Not if she's got your ex supporting her.”
Posy glances back down at the page, as if the idea embarrasses her. “I heard he went back to work. Babies are expensive.” Her voice drops so low I can tell she doesn’t want to discuss it.
“What are you reading, anyway?”
She puts her palm over the page. “This isn’t an open relationship. Sorry.”
