Truly: Of course. And thanks for the intro in the first place. I wouldn’t have this shot if it weren’t for you. Dinner is on me, well, basically forever.
Charlotte: Nah, that’s crazy. I was happy to hook you up.
Truly: Hey, I wanted to tell you something.
Charlotte: *perks up * *presses ear to phone* *waits with bated breath*
Truly: *deep breath* Jason and I made it back to the friend zone. We’ve been helping each other all week, and it’s worked really well. No more slips.
Charlotte: Ohhh. Congrats, I think.
Truly: Yeah, congrats, I think too.
Charlotte: And is that what you really want?
Truly: What I really want is irrelevant. This is what makes sense. And I’m fine with it. I mean it. I’m totally fine with everything.
Charlotte: Well, I’m here in case you’re ever not.
35
He stole my idea. He stole my show. He stole my spot.
It’s that simple and that shitty.
Normally, I’d go to Gin Joint right about now.
Okay, well, not exactly right about now because it’s five in the evening and that’s workout time, and a workout is precisely what I need. An hour at the gym, some time on the exercise bike, some Beatles and Rolling Stones, and maybe, hey, maybe some Eric Clapton too, since my countrymen always reset me properly.
But after a shower, I can still smell fumes of annoyance wafting off me. I hate being annoyed. I hate feeling like I’m spinning on a hamster wheel.
And I wish I could go to Gin Joint, catch Malone singing, grab a beer with Nick if he’s there, then chat with Truly. I want to sort out this epic ball of frustration inside me by talking to friends. But I can’t separate this knot from her right now, as much as I want to.
Rationally, I know it’s not her fault. She made an offhand suggestion to a barman. A smart idea too. The same suggestion I’d give the guy. Hell, it’s the advice I spew out all the bloody time.
And yet, it’s bitten me in the arse.
I head to a club in the Meatpacking District where Walker is deejaying, figuring a stiff drink certainly can’t hurt matters. That’s exactly what I get when I arrive, ordering whiskey amid the haze of cosmopolitan-this and martini-that going out to the young twenty-somethings in leather pants and tight tops that slouch off the shoulders. I grab my drink, knock it back, and check my watch. Walker told me he usually puts on a longer mix and takes a short break at nine.
As I turn around to make my way to a booth, I spot my buddy Josh, who looks as out of place as a man in dress pants, a crisp white shirt, and a silk tie can look at a dance club. I stop when I see him, eyeing him up and down derisively, practically shouting, “Didn’t you get the memo to dress for the occasion?”
“Yeah. This is my occasion. Business. That’s why I dress like I’m wheeling and dealing millions of dollars in pro athlete contracts.”
I break out my imaginary violin. “I feel so bad for you, what with all those rich athletes you have to represent.”
“Hey, I have to be a virtuoso, because there’s this new basketball player in town that everyone’s trying to get a piece of. Including Haven.”
“Ah, Haven. The one, the only.”
He shoots me a look, like he can’t believe I’d refer to her that way. “No, Haven is not the one, the only. She’s this . . . this . . . She’s a total ballbuster. She’s a pain in the ass. She’s a double serving of I can’t even.”
“Sounds as if you fancy her.”
He shoots me a searing look. “No. Just no.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Have it your way. Why don’t I treat you to a glass of whiskey, Mr. Monopoly?”
We head to a quieter bar in a corner of the club. When I see Walker making his way through the crowd, I motion for him to join us.
He claps us both on the back. “What brings you cats to my club? You can’t resist the skills I share with the night owls, right?”
“It’s barely nine. It’s hardly night-owl hour. More like Wall Street and Madison Avenue hour.”
Walker rubs his thumb and forefinger together. “And they bring the greenbacks to hear me spin.”
We catch up for a few minutes about business, and I order another drink while Walker asks for a water. As we talk, Josh jerks his gaze toward the dance floor occasionally, then Walker narrows his eyes at me. “What’s with you tonight, Reynolds? You’re not your usual chipper self.”
I drag a hand through my hair, slumping against the bar. “It’s that obvious?”
Walker points his thumb at Josh. “As obvious as his interest in Leather Pants Woman.”
Josh snaps to attention. “What are you talking about?”
“The woman in the tight leather pants and silver-sequined top. The one who looks like she’d have your balls for breakfast along with a kale smoothie, all before she goes to her Zumba class. C’mon. You think I didn’t notice you were staring at her? You forget who you’re dealing with. I see everything.” He points to his eyes.
“She’s not having my balls for breakfast.”
