Abruption (11 page)

Hair down made it real. What if it wasn’t going back up?

“How about that drink?” I needed a drink. And since there were plenty of places to pick from in my Upper East Side neighborhood, we’d be good in no time.

“Margarita?” she asked.

“I would’ve pegged you for the Italian bubbly.”

She ridiculously tsked, her pointer finger waving back and forth and said, “Assumptions.”

“Maybe.”

I grabbed her slender hand, half-expecting her to stiffen, and when she leaned into my side, I tsked myself.
Assumptions.

All right then, screw the Upper East Side, I knew just the place. If she was expecting a five-star tourist trap, she was going to be sorely disappointed, but it was worth the risk. The food was that good or as close to authentic as you could find in this city. I hailed a cab, told the driver our destination, and warned her. “Complete hole-in-the-wall, but sick Mexican food.”

“No way? Tehuitzingo in Hell’s Kitchen, right? I’ve been dying to go there.”

Go figure.

“Well, let’s get you fed. I wouldn’t want them to run out of taquitos before we get there.”

She flashed her bright smile, and we sat in a comfortable silence watching the NYC skyline pass us by. I couldn’t discern if it was her perfume or the scent of her hair filling the cab with the aroma of those sweet apples again, but it took some serious effort not to get aroused. Instead, I focused on the non-stop bustle that I’d never get used to and wondered how many ways this town could screw up my kids. But then again, Jules grew up here and she seemed semi-normal (so far).

It was obvious Jules’ mind was reeling as well when she blurted, “Can I ask you something?”

“I have a feeling my answer wouldn’t really matter. You’re going to ask anyway, right?”

She grinned, but the cab driver interrupted before she said anything else. “Sir, is here okay?”

Jules reached for her purse.

“I’ve got it.” Like I was going to let her pay. But I had to admit there was something refreshing about her attempt.

“Thank you.” Her wide saucers wanted to say more as she slid from the cab. Once on the curb, she did. “Why are you such a dick at the hospital?”

Holy shit, did she. If this was her icebreaker, it needed some work. She crossed her arms, anticipating a response. Right, she was serious.

“Um … ouch. Okay, no one has ever asked me that, but then again, the old me never acted like a dick. You’re full of surprises already, Jules. Blunt, stubborn,
and
impatient. How about we table this discussion until after the first round?” That was my attempt to charm my way out, mostly because I had no clue how to respond. It wasn’t the time or place to get into the old me versus the new me (since I was just noticing the difference). And probably a mood killer to tell her that she initially reminded me of my wife. More accurately, what I disliked most about my wife.

“Fair enough.”

I held the door to the Mexican bodega and ushered her in, where we weaved between the stacked packages of tortillas and refrigerated cases filled with beer and cheese. We managed to snag the last two open stools along the counter. This place was happening.

A short silver-haired woman poked her head from the little kitchen window and I held up two fingers. “Dos Modelos, por favor.” She slid a small bowl of fresh pico de gallo and a warm basket of chips in front of us. My mouth was already watering.

“What if I didn’t want a beer?”

“Too bad.” I cracked a smile, unable to hold a straight face.

“Just so you know, I prefer margaritas.”

“Noted. But this is a beer place.”

She cocked a brow. “Says who?”

“Did you not pass the same refrigerators I did? Did you miss the cases of every Mexican beer you can think of?”

“Hmm. Maybe we should go back to the
you being a dick
question. What do you think?” She dipped a chip and popped it into her mouth.

I smiled and gave her back her own words from the other day. “Answering a question with a question. Interesting, Nurse Jules.”

“You think just because you’re the funny guy all of a sudden, it gives you a pass from acting like a complete jerk to me.”

“Funny, huh? I’m funny, how? I mean funny, like I’m a clown? I amuse you. I make you laugh?” She walked right into that one.

She squinted and the lips I had yet to take my eyes off of puckered.

“Seriously, you have no clue what I’m talking about. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen that movie?” Blank stare. “It’s one of the best movie lines of all time.
GoodFellas
? De Niro, Joe Pesci. Come on.”

“What, because I’m Italian you assume I must’ve seen it?”

“No, I assume everyone’s seen it. It’s a classic.”

“Says who?”

“That your favorite question?” Luckily, there was no silverware at the bar because she looked ready to stab me in the eye with a knife. And she thought
I
was funny. “Six Oscar nominations, doll. I think it’s a given.”

“What are you, a movie buff? I wouldn’t have pegged you—”

“Ah, now look who’s making assumptions. You know what they say?”

She bit her lip and half-squinted her right eye. Damn, she was hot when she got flustered.

We stared at each other in silence.

Not your typical start to a first date. All right, I’d admit it—I was rusty.

She broke first. “So no, I haven’t seen it. I’m more of a reader.” Reader, as in ... “And before you ask, no, I’m not a cheesy romance reader.”

“I didn’t think you were.” I totally thought she was. “So what do you read?”

“Suspense thrillers and political biographies, usually.” I almost spit my beer out. Totally not what I expected. She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. “Not your cup of tea, I’m guessing?”

“Hey, I don’t judge. I’m open to all things.” Except political biographies. Who the hell self inflicts torture?

“Me too.”

She was a terrible liar.
Good to know
. I could have called her out on it, but that left the door open for her to return the favor. I had a better idea. “Good. I’ve got an idea that resolves this problem.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Eat fast. We’re watching
GoodFellas
tonight.”

Without missing a beat, she casually said, “Dibs on the lemon ice.”

It almost didn’t register how absurd she sounded. Damn. That was exactly her point
again
.

“This will be nice for Maya. I remember nursing school, trying to study all the time and having to work. It was tough.”

I fished my keys out to unlock my front door. I liked that Jules was concerned about my sitter and she was spot on. Taking all night classes to free her days to watch the kids, Maya probably needed more of a break than she’d ever admit. But I couldn’t focus on Maya’s schedule right now. I was too busy savoring the smell that had been driving me crazy all night. Had to be her shampoo, perfume wasn’t that crisp. Damn, it really had been a while.

“Home so soon, everything okay?” Maya asked, startled when we walked in exactly one hour and twenty minutes after we left.

“Gonna watch a movie. Why don’t you take off? The night’s young.”

“Really? I’m totally fine, if you want to go back out—go for it. I don’t mind sleeping over.”

“You go, relax, do whatever twentysomethings do now. We’ll see you Monday morning.”

“Take advantage, Maya,” Jules chimed in, teasing. “Never know when this will happen again.”

“Okay, thanks, I’m going to grab the rest of my stuff then.” Maya threw all her books and papers in her backpack and headed toward the kitchen.

Before I followed to settle up and walk her out, I turned to Jules and said, “Make yourself comfortable.” But Jules was two steps ahead, already doing exactly that. Her coat and scarf were strewn over the armchair. My eyes immediately gravitated to her bare shoulder where her grey silk top shifted off. I bit my tongue to kill the urge to drag it across her collarbone.
Easy, man.
Before I scared the shit out of her and attacked her like a starved animal, I played host. “Beer?”

“Margarita?”

I smirked. She wasn’t going to make this easy for me.

As soon as I made it to the kitchen, Maya said in a hushed voice, “You sure you don’t want me to stay? I feel bad you never go out, you know, socially.”

I laughed. “You’re starting to sound like Reina.” Good for my kids. Me, not so much. But it came from a good place. “Reminds me, did the kids get to FaceTime her tonight?”

“Yep. And just to give you a heads up,” she went back to whispering, “she asked the kids a million questions about Julia.”

“Jules.” Now I sounded like Maxie. “Thanks, no big surprise there.” I shook my head in amusement, imagining how that conversation played out. “Everything quiet tonight?”

“Yeah. Kids were great, as always. I did Finn’s exercises and they went down, no problem. But keep an eye on Finn’s cough—I’m not loving it. Humidifier’s on.”

“Will do. Thanks again.” I handed her a fifty but she pushed it away.

“You don’t have to pay me extra, it’s fine. Really.”

“Maya, you work your hours for a salary. Anything over, you deserve to get paid, not only this job but any job. Hear me?” Sometimes I forgot how young Maya was. She was too generous for her own good.

“Okay, but this is way too much.”

“Lesson number two, don’t argue with your employer.” I winked and forced her to pocket the cash. A fifty was nothing for peace of mind. “See ya Monday.” She nodded and headed out.

The bedrooms were on the other side of the apartment, off the kitchen. I peeked in, covered Finn, checked his bed rails, and turned off Max’s glitter chandelier. How she fell asleep with the damn thing on amazed me.

It was quiet. Kids were set.

Before I thought too hard about what a monumentally stupid idea tonight was, I rummaged through the cabinet over my stove. Tequila. Check. Triple sec. Check. Pulled open the fridge door. Limes. Check.

Margaritas were easy enough. I could do margaritas.

The first thing I saw when I walked back into the living room was tall boots leaning against the couch. She glanced up at the sound of my footsteps. “You really made margaritas, with salt, no less. I was teasing—you really didn’t need to. Thanks, though. Kids good?”

“Yeah,” I said, absorbing the sight. Her feet were curled under her ass, and she had a
Patagonia
catalog open on her lap, killing time. “Sorry, fresh out of
Cosmo
and
Vogue
. If you dig deep, you might be able to find one of Maxine’s princess books.”

“Oh no, I was looking at these hiking boots. Mine are pretty beat up.”

My eyes bugged. She was messing with me. Two could play that game. “The ramps at Yankee Stadium are pretty steep, a shoe with a solid grip’s not a bad idea.” She hiked, my ass. I smirked, envisioning JuJu from the Bronx lacing up a pair of drifters over her skinny jeans. What was it with women? Britt gave up pretending to like anything remotely outdoorsy the second I slid a rock on her finger. Yeah, not going there.

That same dumbfounded look she had with the
GoodFellas
line spread across her face. Instead of butchering my joke, I gave her an out. “Where do you hike?”

“Depends on how much time I have and the season, but anywhere along the Appalachian Trail has amazing views of the Hudson Valley. And I love Adirondack Park; I’ve done several of the 46 high peaks, but haven’t made it to Mount Marcy up in Lake Placid yet. Casey and I have it on our bucket list.”

If my eyes bulged any further, I was at risk of looking like I had Graves’ disease. She blew my mind. Officially blown. Half the shit that came out of her mouth shocked the hell out of me; the other half had me laughing my ass off. Maybe it was an act; maybe it wasn’t, but right now, who cared?

“Cool,” I said, because the other option would have been foaming at the mouth, tackling her down, and professing my undying love. Not really, but the thought of her enjoying hiking as much as I did was a serious turn on. I was knee-deep in trails every chance I had back home. Pre-residency, pre-marriage, pre-kids, pre-widower. A lifetime ago.