In A Holidaze - Christina Lauren Page 0,95
his deal?” Jess asked quietly.
“You have such a thing for Americano,” Fizzy said. “Do you realize you watch him every day?”
“Maybe I find his demeanor fascinating.”
Fizzy let her eyes drop to his ass, currently hidden by a navy coat. “We’re calling it his ‘demeanor’ now?” She bent, writing something in the Idea Notebook she kept near her laptop.
“Every day, he comes in here and emits the vibe that if anyone tried to talk to him, he would do a murder,” Jess quipped.
“Maybe he’s a hit man.”
Jess, too, inspected him top to bottom. “More like a socially constipated medieval art professor.” She tried to remember when he’d started coming in here. Maybe two years ago? Monday to Friday, same time every morning, same drink, same sullen silence. This was a quirky neighborhood, and Twiggs was its heart. People came in to linger, to sip, to chat; Americano stood out not for being weird or eccentric but for being almost entirely silent in a space full of boisterous, lovable weirdos. “Nice clothes, but inside them he’s all grouchy,” Jess mumbled.
“Well, maybe he needs to get laid, kind of like someone else I know.”
“Fizz. I’ve had sex since birthing Juno,” Jess said in exasperation. “I’m just saying I don’t have a lot left over for commitment, and I’m not willing to endure boring or outright terrible dates just for orgasms. They make battery-operated appliances for that.”
“I’m not talking just about sex,” Fizzy said. “I’m talking about not always putting yourself last.” She paused to wave to Daniel, who was wiping down a table nearby. “Daniel, did you catch all of that?”
He straightened and gave her the smile that had made Fizzy write the hero of Destiny’s Devil with Daniel in mind, and do all manner of dirty things to him in the book that she hadn’t dared do in real life.
And would never do: Daniel and Fizzy went out once last year but quickly ended things when they ran into each other at a family reunion. Their family reunion. “When can’t we hear you?” he asked.
“Good, then please tell Jess that I’m right.”
“You want me to have an opinion about whether Jess should be on Tinder just to get laid?” he asked.
“Okay, yup.” Jess groaned. “This is what rock bottom feels like.”
“Or whichever dating site she likes!” Fizzy cried, ignoring her. “This woman is sexy and young. She shouldn’t waste her remaining hot years in mom jeans and old sweatshirts.”
Jess looked down at her outfit, ready to protest, but the words shriveled in her throat.
“Maybe not,” Daniel said, “but if she’s happy, does it matter whether or not she’s frumpy?”
She beamed at Fizzy in triumph. “See? Daniel is sort of on Team Jess.”
“You know,” Daniel said to her now, balling the wash rag in his hands, smug with insider knowledge, “Americano is a romantic, too.”
“Let me guess,” Jess said, grinning. “He’s the host of an LA-based sex dungeon?”
Only Fizzy laughed. Daniel gave a coy shrug. “He’s about to launch some cutting-edge matchmaking company.”
Both women went silent. A what now?
“Matchmaking?” Jess asked. “The same Americano who comes in here every day and never smiles at anyone?” She pointed behind her to the door he’d exited only a minute ago. “That guy? With his intense hotness marred by the moody, antisocial filter?”
“That’s the one,” Daniel said, nodding. “You could be right that he needs to get laid, but I’m guessing he does just fine for himself.”
At least this particular Fizzy tangent happened on a Monday—Pops picked up Juno from school on Monday afternoons and took her to the library. Jess was able to get a proposal together for Genentech, set up a meeting with Whole Foods for next week, and bash through a few spreadsheets before she had to walk home and start dinner.
Her car, ten years old with barely thirty thousand miles logged on it, was so rarely used that Jess couldn’t remember the last time she’d had to fill the tank. Everything in her world, Jess thought contentedly on her walk home, was within arm’s reach. University Heights was the perfect of blend of apartments and mismatched houses nestled between tiny restaurants and independent businesses. Frankly, the sole benefit of last night’s date was that Travis had agreed to meet at El Zarape just two doors down; the only thing worse than having the world’s most boring dinner conversation would have been driving to the Gaslamp to do it.
With about two hours until sunset, the sky had gone a heavily bruised gray-blue, threatening