The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,156

can be fun when it involves a ridiculous amount of cozy blankets and endless, stovetop hot chocolate.

“I can deal with the cold,” he continues, then groans, “the heat, though—Jesus. I could not sleep. I’ve been up for hours, moving boxes around the apartment. Finally, I had to come out for fresh air. You can only remove so much clothing, you know?”

Heat creeps up my chest. I scold myself. So what if he’s naked in his own apartment? I try to think of a witty response to cover the fact that I’m blushing, but I come up short. I sip my coffee instead. We exit the elevator with his last comment hanging between us.

“So, these are the mailboxes,” I say with flourish, breaking the silence, as we cross the small lobby. “Yours is next to mine.”

He smiles politely and gets the door. We’re blasted by cold air. I try to pull my collar up around my neck, but my hands are full.

“Need some help?” he offers.

I give him Ginger’s leash and my thermos so I can bundle deeper into my coat. “The diner’s to the right,” I tell him. “I’m going that way too.”

He gives me back the coffee but takes Ginger down the sidewalk as if she were his own.

Despite the cold, the sun is shining. I get a better look at him. He has a five o’clock, butter-blond shadow at seven o’clock in the morning. It’s a shade lighter than his coppery lips and shows off his high cheekbones. His is the kind of face you’d see in a movie. One I might’ve gone to as a teenager just because he was on the poster.

“Shit,” he states.

Because I’m paying attention to him and not where I’m going, it takes me a moment to understand. Literally—shit. I hop sideways just in time, narrowly avoiding a pile of dog poop. “Ugh.”

He grins. “Mondays.”

“Lazy assholes is more like it.”

“Spoken like a true city girl.” He smiles bigger. “Have you lived in the building long?”

“Four years yesterday.” We stop so Ginger can pee on her usual tree. “But I went to NYU. I’ve lived on the east side for over ten years.”

“So you hate it here.”

I laugh, and God, does it feel good. My dry cheeks crack like they’re made of concrete and I’ve hit them with a hammer. We continue walking, Ginger looking back at us every few seconds, as if we might disappear on her. My mood has lifted. Sometimes, in this city, talking to strangers is a burden. They want something—directions, money, time. I’m glad I stopped for my new neighbor, though. He’s chasing off the dark clouds that’ve been hanging around lately.

But then, he stops abruptly and groans. I get the sudden, intense feeling this walk is over. “I left my wallet in the apartment. Think they’ll let me open a tab?”

“Not a chance.” We’re a few feet from the crosswalk, and I nod across the street. “There’s the diner.”

“Okay.” He wipes his nose on his sleeve. Mine is also running a little despite the fact that the walk has warmed me up. I don’t believe he isn’t the slightest bit cold. “I better run back. I’m about to eat my hand.”

I don’t have to think twice. He’s helped me out just by making me feel better, and I want to return the favor. “I’ll spot you,” I say, digging in my pocket for cash. I keep forty bucks in my coat in case of dog-walking emergencies. Since I can hear his stomach grumbling from here, I give him both twenties. “Get the hash browns. Trust me.”

He takes the money. “You’re an angel. I’ll pay you back.”

“No problem.” I nod at Ginger, who pants, giving us her signature Golden-Retriever smile. “Consider it a thanks for your services.”

“For a ten-minute walk? Expensive pooch.” He hands me back the leash, then adds, “Unless you want to join me? My treat,” he teases.

I’m surprised by his invitation but even more so that I’m disappointed to turn it down. Hash browns and good company sound like a great way to spend the morning. “I should get to work,” I say with some reluctance. “Not everyone can make rent walking dogs.”

“Good point.” He grins. The walk signal begins to count down. Last chance to change my mind and play hooky from work. He holds up the money. “Thanks again.”

He jogs across the street toward the restaurant. I wonder what his name is. And why he isn’t also on his way to work on a Monday morning.

Except for him, the view from this corner is familiar. I’ve stood here more times than I can count. Ginger pulls on her leash. She knows this is where we turn back for the apartment. The sun is still out, but clouds edge the city. Alone again, any humor in my morning dissipates. My mood creeps back down to where it was earlier—where it’s been for months.

Slip of the Tongue on Amazon / Kindle Unlimited.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jessica Hawkins grew up between the purple mountains and under the endless sun of Palm Springs, California. She studied international business at Arizona State University and has also lived in Costa Rica and New York City. To her, the most intriguing fiction is forbidden, and that’s what you’ll find in her stories. Currently, she resides wherever her head lands, which is often the unexpected (but warm) keyboard of her trusty MacBook.