Page 40 of Crave
I dipped my chin as my face burned with embarrassment.
Then I squeezed Jamison’s strong shoulder and pointed a hand at Alana. “Jamison, this is Alana. She’s my associate interior designer.” My hand shifted to Alex. “And this is Alex, my craftsman. And Alana and Alex, this is Jamison Cox.”
Alana tilted her head. “And he’s your…?”
I glanced at Jamison. We’d already set what we were in stone. “He’s my new love interest.”
Alana laughed and rolled her eyes. Alex, who was generally a quiet person, smiled and reached out to shake Jamison’s hand. “Jamison. Nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” Jamison replied.
Alana, who wasn’t one for letting awkward moments linger, said there was a tavern in town that was supposed to have all the fattening food and drink a girl needed after two days of dealing with airport drama. Jamison offered to drive us in my rented SUV, so we left the hotel and piled into the car with Alana and Alex in the back seat.
“Oh gosh, now I remember,” Alana said from the back seat. “Jamison Cox. You’re a political analyst or something.”
“Strategist. And she mentioned me before?” Jamison sounded excited.
“Oh, definitely so.” Alana’s tone didn’t hint that whatever I’d said about Jamison was favorable. I couldn’t even remember mentioning Jamison to her. However, I kept Alana on my staff not only for her impeccable design skills but also for her exceptional ability to listen and remember everything that she heard.
“And not in a good way?” Jamison sounded disappointed.
I cringed, praying Alana would use her impeccable communication skills to not make Jamison feel like the cruddy jerk who I’d probably made him out to be.
“Not in a bad way either. Just in a realistic way,” Alana said, and I held in a sigh of relief. “And by the way, Bryn, Alex has a new girlfriend named Mia.”
“Here we go,” Alex said. I pictured him rolling his eyes.
“And Mia doesn’t like to pick up her dog’s poop because she says it’s biodegradable and good for the earth. In New York City, the earth is concrete. She’s gotta know that, right?”
“I picked it up, okay?” Alex groused.
“But it wasn’t your dog. It’s her dog. Her poop.”
“But I picked it up.”
“That’s not the point, Alex. When you’re not around to pick up her dog poop, she’s letting her dog drop a deuce and leaving it on the sidewalk for someone to step in. I mean, like, who the hell does that? And you know what? We were supposed to walk our dogs with you and me, not with you, me, and her. And she talks too much. And her dog wants to eat Lilly. She’s like a little woman with a big ol’ pit bull. What’s that about, Bryn? Daddy issues, right? Serious, fucking… her dad wanted a boy. Daddy issues.”
Alex remained silent. I looked at Jamison with wide eyes. His wink told me he wasn’t made uncomfortable by their bickering. I wanted to explain that it was normal for Alex and Alana to bicker that way. They were close. I’d always known they were attracted to each other, but Alex was from a small town in Ohio and Alana had grown up in Queens. I knew for a fact that he considered her one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, with her swan’s neck, heart-shaped face, pouty lips, and mysterious eyes, but her rough edges intimidated him.
Alana had commented several times that Alex was good-looking, too, but soft. I’d seen several of her boyfriends, and none of them ever seemed tougher or manlier than Alex. So I had no idea what in the hell she meant bysoft. I’d asked her once, and she blew me off, saying, “It’s unexplainable. He just is.”
Finally, Alex sighed. He usually took his time to come up with the right response for Alana. “Then I won’t bring her anymore. But just don’t bring what’s his face to happy hour anymore.”
“Who’s what’s his face?” Alana snapped.
“I don’t know his fucking name, but he’s too loud.”
“Rain?”
“Maybe. That’s it. And who names their kid Rain?”
“Deal,” Alana said. “No Mia from you. No Rain from me.”
“Deal.”
Awkward silence lingered until Jamison asked if either of them had ever been to Vail. Alex had, Alana hadn’t, and Jamison and Alex shared their favorite ski spots in Colorado.
The restaurant lookedlike a Western lodge, with wooden walls, tacky old-West artwork, and no windows. Regardless of the unsightly decor, the restaurant was full. Conversation flowed easily during dinner, especially after Jamison asked each of my assistants what their first impression of me was.
