Page 86 of Loverboy
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Two hours later I’m tiptoeing out of the bedroom, my shoes in hand, when I come face to face with Ginny Paxton. “Heck, lady,” I whisper. “You startled me.”
“Sneaking out again, are you?” she gives me a stare.
“I always leave before your little boy gets up. If my presence really bothers you, I could bring Posy home to my place.”
“That won’t actually solve anything,” Ginny says, arms crossed, expression steely.
“Look, you used to like me, and now you don’t anymore. Is it something I said?” I ask, stepping into my shoes. “Might as well get it off your chest.”
“Fine. I need you to be careful with Posy.”
“We’re very careful,” I say through a yawn. “There’s another one of my team members outside watching the pie shop right now. We’re very good at what we do.”
Ginny waves a hand, dismissing my promise. “I don’t mean it like that. I’m sure you’re the biggest, baddest security dude, and so are all your friends. And you gave her that panic button device, for those rare moments when you’re not in her bed. But so what, Gunnar? Whoever’s killing hackers on the front page of theNew York Timesisn’t interested in Posy anyway.”
“That’s true. So what’s your problem?”
“My problem is what comes next,” she says. “You won’t stick around when this is done.”
“How do you know?” I ask indignantly. Even though it’s a fair question.
“Because I just know,” Ginny says quietly. “Men say nice things when they want something. I’m used to it, but Posy doesn’t have as much practice. That ass she used to be married to made her feel like a piece of crap, too.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff. “Do you really want to compare me to him?”
She gives me a critical head-to-toe glance. “I’ll admit that the packaging is better in your case. And the way my sister looks at you, I know you’re way better in the sack.”
I’ve always been good at taking a compliment, but I decide to let this one fly by without acknowledgement.
“How much longer will you be in New York?” she asks. “Days? Weeks?”
“I’m not sure,” I hedge.
“Well, after the Posy-watching gig is over, will you be in the neighborhood on a regular basis?”
“That’s hard to say.”
“Is it? You tell everyone who will listen how much you hate New York.”
“Well—”
“Is your job dangerous?” she interrupts.
I don’t even try to skirt that one. “Yes, once in a while. But I have a terrific team to back me up.”
“Uh huh.” Her jaw is tight. I’ve had easier interviews when I was detained by Chechen rebels at the border. “And when your boss declares victory, are you just going to waltz out of here leaving Posy with no barista?”
“Unfortunately. But we already put a sign in the window, looking for help.”
“Oh, well.” She sniffs. “As long as you put a sign in the window.”
“Hey—the labor shortage is not my doing,” I argue. “Before I walked in, she was in the same boat. I’ve made a metric fuckton of coffee for Posy.”
Ginny doesn’t care about logic, though. She crosses her arms again and glares. “Just think about what you’re doing, Gunnar. She’s a thirty-four-year-old woman with a ticking biological clock. Her ex threw her away like a used paper towel. If you’re going to break her heart, do it soon.”
“Who said anything about broken hearts?” But even as I ask the question, I realize it’s entirely possible. I have feelings for Posy. So it’s only logical that she may have feelings for me.
