“Let me buy you coffee? Or loafers? Or goddamned sunscreen.”
“I thought you couldn’t—”
“Yeah, I’m also not supposed to pay for hookers or go home with guys. There’s a lot I keep doing around you that I’m not supposed to.”
“Am I going to finish a sentence on this date?”
“Depends on how often your lips are in range of mine.” Where that came from, I didn’t know. Didn’t care either, because Peter smiled. He rolled his eyes, but he did smile. Then he gave a slow, almost reluctant nod, and said the magic word. “Okay”.
“Three o’clock, Saturday. I’ll pick you up here.” I checked his feet as I released his arm. “And wear the bunny slippers.”
“Have they drug tested you recently?”
“I’ll bring the results on our date,” I winked. My grin stayed in place until I spun around. That was when I closed my eyes and took a deep, shaky breath as I headed to my car. Several minutes of deep breathing later, I was finally controlled enough to call Luis with what I knew.
After we set up an interview for the next day with Prisc and his lawyer, I drove home whistling. My case was unraveling before my eyes, but I had a date with Peter on Saturday. He might not even stab me in the face during it.
It amazed me what constituted a victory these days.
But my joviality was short-lived when I found Angelica making dinner when I arrived.
She Left With The Only Bottle of Soy Sauce
When Angelica and I took the plunge into dating, we each owned a home. I, the Victorian apartment building that I adored, and she, a two million dollar brick mansion three miles away in the most expensive neighborhood in Denver. When I proposed we had the only serious argument we’d ever had: about where we were going to live. Eight weeks before our wedding, the jury was still out.
I was probably going to give in. Move into her house and settle into our life together. I knew it, and she knew it. But it was a difficult loss for me because I’d invested so much time and energy into this little building. Angelica understood that, too. So she put up with our living apart. For now.
We almost exclusively slept at my place when we spent nights together, though it was getting harder to explain our lifestyle to our friends. We were monumentally independent. It took almost two years for her to allow me closet space and drawers at her place. But she was always able to make herself at home in mine. Go figure.
She worked as a junior partner in a law firm—my father’s law firm to be exact. Her hours could best be described as horrendous. At worst they could be called excruciating. Most of the time, seventeen-hour days were the norm for her. Thus, she came over whenever her schedule allowed.
“Hello, lover,” Angelica greeted me with a smile over the island that separated the kitchen from the living room.
“Are you cooking?” I sniffed the air. “There’s no smoke. The fire alarm isn’t sounding,” I said with a heaping dose of suspicion.
“You scoff, but what are you going to do when I actually do cook something?”
“Check and see what aliens have invaded your body and exchanged your soul for theirs.”
“You can peek under my skirt right now,” she taunted, holding up a spatula and a steaming frying pan.
My smile faltered. I concentrated on the TV, snatching the remote off the end table and flipping it on. “You did not cook that,” I accused.
Angelica’s soft laugh filled the room. I avoided her gaze. I had been avoiding her actually, because I didn’t want to argue. And I was going to venture a guess that my wanting to bone a guy would be a big point of contention. We were going to have to talk about it.
I sat on the sofa, remote in hand and flipped through the channels. Even if something was on, I wouldn’t have noticed. The TV held no interest for me other than as an excuse to avoid her some more. She was on to me, however.
I wasn’t acting any differently than normal. I never rushed over to her and kissed her or groped her after long periods apart. I needed distance first. Distance from what I saw and dealt with on the job. At least, that’s what I told myself was the excuse. So I wasn’t sure why she instantly figured out something was up. Woman’s intuition?
“What’s wrong?” Angelica asked, flipping open two beers and setting one in my hand. She gently removed the remote and placed it on the coffee table.
Curling up beside me, she rested an elbow on the back of the sofa. Her fingers played with the hem of her skirt, where her feet peeked out. I concentrated on these small things, hoping I’d find some measure of attraction that was even close to what I felt for Peter.