The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,13
good, I’m guessing.”
“I may have said some things about your gender, but nothing you didn’t deserve. I doubt she wants me anywhere near you.”
“Good thing I’m a grown man and can decide for myself.”
She bumps me with her shoulder and holds up her beer. “Want the rest?”
“You sure?”
She nods. “I’ve proven myself, haven’t I?”
I take her beer, swig the rest down, and throw out all our trash. “Dessert?” I ask.
She groans. “Give me a break.”
I laugh. “Come on.”
“I have something else in mind for dessert,” she says. “And besides—we’re here.”
I furrow my eyebrows. “Where?”
“My apartment.” She stops and looks up, so I follow her gaze up the high-rise.
“I didn’t know we had a destination. I thought we were just wandering.”
“I don’t wander.” She opens her purse and gets out a key fob. When she holds it up to a black pad, it beeps, and the door unlatches. She looks back at me. “Coming?”
I glance into the building. A uniformed man behind a desk reads The New Yorker. The marble floor is shiny enough that I can see my reflection from where I stand. I don’t exactly live in a palace, but I like my familiar, comfortable home that’s a little too worn in, a little too kid-friendly. “This is exactly the kind of place I pictured you in,” I say.
“All right.” She shrugs. “So?”
I put my hands in my pockets. I’ve been out of the game awhile, and aside from the girls I meet in bars, this is easier than I remember. “So nothing. We just go up and do it?”
She gives me a funny look. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes. I just want to make sure it’s what you want.”
“It is. Don’t worry. I’d tell you if it wasn’t.”
I believe her. “Should we at least pick up some wine or something?”
She takes the plastic bag of things from me and nods toward the door. “I’ve got it covered. Come on.”
I get the door for her. “By the way, isn’t this his job?” I ask, nodding at the man in the lobby.
“It is absolutely his job,” she says, not bothering to lower her voice. “Isn’t it, Frank?”
Frank looks up, widens his eyes, and jumps out of his seat. “Miss Van Ecken. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“It’s too late now. We’re already inside.” Her heels echo in the lobby as she strides toward his desk. She stops in front of him and waits. “Well?”
He looks to me, and I shrug. “I’m sorry?” he asks.
“I should’ve had a dress delivered today,” she says.
“Oh. Of course.” He fumbles the magazine, drops it, goes to pick it up, but decides to leave it. “One moment.” He hustles over to a door, opens it, and pulls out a long garment bag. “Here you are,” he says, shuffling back toward us. As he does, his shoe catches the bottom of the dress, and he stumbles.
“Careful,” she reprimands. “This is Givenchy, and it’s worth, well—more than you are.”
I cough into my fist to hide my amusement. This guy is more my crowd, and maybe that means I should interfere, but I don’t need Amelia turning her wrath on me. Not when I’m this close to getting in. Slowly, he passes her the bag. Through a small plastic window, I see a flash of red. It’s my favorite color on a woman, and I wonder where she plans to wear it. She drapes it over her elbow. “Thank you. You might as well get back to your job reading a magazine.”
She pivots on her heel and walks away. The doorman—Frank—gives me a sympathetic look before I turn and follow. I try to reach the elevator before her, but she beats me to it and hits the call button.
“I don’t get it,” I say, when we’re out of earshot. “You want him to get the door for you, but you won’t let me pay for your four-dollar salad?”
With her back straight, she waits by the elevator, watching the digital numbers tick down.
“Do you want to be your own woman, or do you want men to do things for you?”
She looks abruptly at me, as if I’ve voiced some unspoken understanding between her and the universe. “I don’t need you to get me, just like I don’t need anyone to do anything for me. The beauty of being independent is I get to decide what I want from whom. Is that wrong?”
I consider it. Without being a mind reader, it could potentially be difficult to make someone like her