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  He returned, likely after paying the angry cabbie, and sat across from me. His glasses slightly askew, he was all Clark Kent.

  I patted the seat to my right. “You won’t sit next to me?”

  “No. I know your tricks.” He scrubbed a hand down the scruff along his jaw. “We have to come to some sort of a working arrangement. But that isn’t going to happen if you keep stealing from me.”

  “I was just borrowing.”

  “I have two degrees in lit. Your Jedi mind tricks won’t work on me.” He slid the wallet off the table and into his pocket.

  “It was the only way I knew of to get you to have lunch with me.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut.

  “You know I’m right.”

  “Sir.” The server arrived with two plates of chicken parmesan and slid one in front of me and the other in front of Willis. Flipping over Willis’s glass, he poured some of my red before asking if we needed anything else.

  “You planned all this. Knew I would come.” Willis was gruff, though he unfurled his napkin and placed it in his lap. “What if I was allergic to cheese or something? What if I didn’t like chicken parmesan?”

  “You’re not, and you’re going to like it. I promise.” I grabbed my knife and fork. “Give it a try. If you hate it, I’ll pay the tab.” That was a lie. I didn’t have two dimes to rub together after I’d handed over my last haul to Pauly. Hannah’s mistakes were costly, but I would do everything in my power to pay for them and keep her safe.

  He cut a corner off the fried chicken, dipped it in the marinara along the top, and crunched the delicious concoction between his teeth.

  “See?” I took a bite, chewing along with him. “Good, right?”

  He cut off another piece of chicken and speared it with his fork. “I may as well eat it. I paid for it.”

  “So true.” His noncommittal act wasn’t fooling me; he liked the food and the company. I took a sip of wine and watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

  He peered at me through his glasses. “You want to get to know me, huh?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Then tell me your real name.” He took a pull from his wine glass.

  “No can do. But I can tell you other things.”

  “Why won’t you tell me your name?”

  I leaned forward. “Can you keep a secret?”

  He paused mid-chew. “Yeah.”

  “So can I.” I sat back.

  He frowned but kept eating. “Fine. Where did you grow up?”

  “Brooklyn.” The warm chicken and salty parmesan danced on my tongue, and I almost moaned from how delicious it was.

  “Why don’t you have a Brooklyn accent?”

  “I do, Sparky. I just like to change it up whenever I feel like it.”

  His eyes widened as I changed my ‘r’s to ‘h’s and spoke in my native dialect.

  “I can do British, if you like. Australian. German. Do you like Boston? I can do Southie with real verve. Drop every single ‘r’. Simple. The only one I botch sometimes is Southern. I can do new south, but old south is so much more dramatic, which makes it easier for me.” I was showing off, using different accents as I spoke, but I couldn’t help it when he stared at me like I was the most peculiar beast in the circus side show.

  “How?”

  I crunched through a piece of chicken and batted around the idea of telling him the truth about my talents. A first. No one knew me. Not really. Just my sister, Hannah. I stuck with keeping it vague. “I have a knack for languages. That’s how I knew the writer of Scarlet Rocket was a man.”

  “What gave it away?” His guard was coming down, interest shining in his eyes.

  “Just certain phrases you use. Predominately masculine sentence structures. Women tend to use more passive constructions for things—not because of nature, of course, but because they’re taught to be passive from an early age—so I noticed when you preferred active verbs.”

  He put his fork down and wiped at the corners of his mouth with his napkin, thoughts racing across his eyes like clouds across the sky. “Where did you go to school?”

  “I didn’t. I mean, I graduated from a high school in Brooklyn, but I didn’t go to college.”

  “No theater or language classes, no literary criticism studies? Nothing?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was impressed or horrified. “No.”

  He took another bite, the silence between us tripling in size as the moments rolled by.

  I fidgeted and drank more. Had I revealed too much?

  “Is your family still in Brooklyn?”

  “Rent got too steep. My sister is in Jersey City with me. My dad split a long time ago, and Ma’s been gone for two years now.”

  His eyes softened, the frown lines relaxing. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” I waved his concern away despite the tightening in my chest and the ghost of a sting behind my eyes. “She had a penchant for booze and cigarettes. It caught up to her earlier than we expected.”

  “If she was anything like you, then I bet she was something to behold.”

  I ran my finger along the rim of my wine glass and held his gaze. “Did you just compliment me?”

  “Technically, I think I complimented your mother.” He smiled, and oh my god, he had dimples.

  Heat rushed through me, and my heart did a crazy two-step that was illegal in all fifty states except Texas. I had to get this under control. Feelings and business did not mix, especially not when I was working on a mark as big as Willis.

  Swiping the feels away, I got down to business. “So, tell me about you. But first, let me see how much I’ve figured out on my own. You’re from Chicago, but you’ve lived in the city for a while. A bachelor. Left-handed. One or two serious relationships, at most. You prefer brunettes, but redheads rev your engine the most. Comic books, video games, and reading are your favorite past times. Right?”

  He canted his head at me. “Are you for real?”

  I pinched my arm. “As far as I know.”

  “Did you find me on Facebook or something?”

  “Yep, but your profile is set to private. I could tell you were from Chicago when you opened your mouth.”

  Realization dawned on him, and he shook his head in a cutely bewildered way as he continued, “Yes, I’m from Chicago, but my parents moved here when I was a teenager.” He finished his chicken and drank more wine. “So, I’ve been in the city for, hmm, about ten years now.”

  “Your parents still here?”

  “They retired to Florida a few years ago.”

  “Was I right about the other things?” I twisted a lock of red hair around my finger.

  “Maybe.” He swallowed hard, and a hint of pink colored his cheeks.

  “Maybe?” I grinned. “I think you meant to say I was spot on. But that’s fine. School?” At this point, I was usually pumping the mark for information to use against them. But with him, I genuinely wanted to know more.

  “NYU. I thought I was going to be a writer.” He gave a rueful laugh. “I hung around and got my master’s, mainly because I couldn’t find a job with an English degree and a smile. Then, when I got out, I wound up working at a coffee shop and a bookstore while mooching off my parents.”

  “So, you started the blog?” I crossed my legs under the table, my foot brushing against his leg. He didn’t move away.

  “Not exactly.” He took another drink.

  “So, what happened?” I leaned forward.

  “Your turn.” He took another bite. “What did you do after high school?”

  Made mistakes. Dated the wrong men. Worked shit jobs. Perfected my con game. “This and that. Mostly retail work.”

  “Have you always been a thief?”

  I smiled, the answer in the smirking curve of my lips. “What made you start your blog?”

  He set his fork down and considered me, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to talk more or bolt. After a few mo
re moments, he said, “I met a girl in college. We were together for a while. Then”— he dropped his gaze to the table, though I’d seen the shadow of hurt in his eyes—“she didn’t like that I wasn’t able to get a better job, that I hadn’t made progress on a book. So, she left.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He waved away my concern. “No. She was right. I was in a rut. Her leaving was the best thing, really. It got me to start working on the blog. Like it was an outlet for my broken heart, and as it turns out, I’m pretty good at giving advice. So now I put all my effort into the blog. It’s my life.” He gave me a pointed look. “It means everything to me.”

  And I was threatening it. I took the hint, but that was part of my game. The higher the stakes were for him, the better the payout for me.

  “It’s a savvy blog. And you definitely give good advice. I thoroughly enjoyed it when you told the guy off who said he hated going down on girls but always wanted them to give him head. Epic take down.”

  “He deserved it.”

  “Couldn’t agree more.” I held up my glass.

  He reluctantly clinked his with mine. “Like I said, it’s my life. I’m practically the hermit of the East Village. I spend all my time at my desk, trying to make the blog a success.”

  “Sounds…isolating.” That had to be a lonely job. “You should get out more.”

  He twisted the corner of his napkin around his finger. “I’m too busy. My friend Elias is always inviting me to go out with him or set me up.” He shrugged, and a vulnerability radiated from him in subtle waves.

  “But?”

  He gave me a wry smile. “The relationships you guessed about earlier didn’t end so well. I’m not interested in any more heartbreak.”

  “I get that.” I never saw anyone seriously. My life didn’t lend itself to relationships, especially when I had Hannah to take care of. “Getting involved with someone creates its own problems.”

  He nodded. “Right. And, so far, it hasn’t been worth it.”

  I grabbed my half-full glass and held it up. “To being single.”

  He clinked his glass to mine. “To being single.”

  We drank to loneliness, but held each other’s gaze as we drained our glasses.

  7

  Willis

  The shirt strangled my biceps, which was both gratifying and irritating.

  “How’s it looking in there?” Elias’s voice floated through the changing room door.

  “Shitty.”

  “Oh.”

  “Sir?” The store clerk hovered outside the door. “Could I take a look and see what the problem is?”

  “Sure.” I swung open the door.

  The clerk peeked inside and frowned. “I see. But, good news is, I have just the thing. Two seconds.” He disappeared.

  Elias walked in and plopped on the dressing bench. “What’s wrong with the shirt?”

  “If I were the sort of douche who flexed my guns to impress the ladies every chance I got, I’d bust right through the fabric.”

  He rolled his eyes. “What a terrible problem to have.”

  I stripped the shirt off. “How many times have I asked you to go to the gym with me?”

  “Meh.” He patted his stomach. “Nothing feels as good as dessert tastes.”

  I laughed. “I think you mean ‘nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.’”

  He scoffed. “That is skinny-ist propaganda.”

  “Sure.”

  The clerk returned with another shirt in a similar navy shade as the one I’d just tried on. “This one has more room in the areas where you need it.”

  I took it and slipped it on.

  “That’s looking nice, man.” Elias nodded as I buttoned it up. “Scarlet will drop the panties in no time.”

  “How many times do I have to remind you this is a business relationship?” I shook my head and peered at the shirt in the mirror.

  “Sure. But I saw how you two were vibing at the gallery.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I’m onto you.”

  “You’re delusional.” I’d spent the last two nights telling myself that Scarlet was solely a business partner, nothing more. My dick hadn’t agreed and seemed to be on a mission to turn me into a teenage boy. But all that was beside the point. I wouldn’t let my hard-on for the mysterious Scarlet rule me. This was to sell books, to become the go-to name in relationship and sex advice. A voice that cut through all the noise and helped people find lasting happiness. Scarlet Rocket. Me.

  “Is this irony?” He scratched his head. “You’re the smart one, so tell me; is it irony that you dish out relationship advice, but you can’t even admit when you’re jonesing for a girl?”

  “If it were true, then yes, it would be ironic.” I shrugged out of the shirt and handed it to the clerk. “Just give me five of those in different colors.”

  “Will do.” He hurried away as I pulled my Avengers t-shirt over my head.

  “So now you have big boy pants, shirts, shoes, and jackets.” Elias wiped a fake tear. “All grown up.”

  “Remind me, why are we friends again?” I strode out of the dressing room.

  “My sparkling personality and classic good looks?” He followed me to the register.

  I grunted and handed over my credit card.

  “You are even grumpier than usual.” He leaned on the counter beside me. “That little Scarlet Rocket has gotten under your skin something terrible.”

  “Scarlet Rocket?” The clerk glanced up from running my credit card.

  “Yeah.” Elias grinned. “Have you heard of her?”

  The clerk handed my card back. “Of course! Do you know her? Is she as amazing in person as she is on her blog?”

  “Even more so.” Elias just couldn’t help himself.

  “I knew it. Six months ago, my girlfriend wrote to her about”—he glanced around the small men’s store to make sure no one was listening—“her overactive gag reflex.”

  I remembered that question. Screen name: GaggingGracie.

  Elias elbowed me. “Scarlet helped you out?”

  “Very much so.” The clerk smiled and finished bagging my clothes. “Her advice on practice was the key. Now…well let’s just say that I’m a very happy man. Satisfied.” He snagged the receipt. “So, what’s she look like?”

  “Willis knows her better than I do. How would you describe her, Willis?”

  I glared at Elias. “She’s a woman.”

  “Oh, come on.” The clerk leaned over the counter. “Just a few details.”

  “She’s a redhead.” I closed my eyes and imagined her devious smile. “And she’s full of mischief.”

  “I knew it.” The clerk drummed his knuckles on the counter. “She’s hot.”

  I swiped my bags off the counter and hurried toward the door.

  “Hey, wait up.” Elias dogged my heels. “Rude boy.”

  Bursting out into the cloudy Manhattan day, I took a deep breath. When the clerk had referred to Scarlet as “hot,” something had come over me. The need to put him in his place. Besides, I was the one who gave GaggingGracie the advice on practicing by pressing bananas against the back of her throat, not Scarlet. Was I jealous of myself? Jeez. I was through the looking glass.

  “She’s making me crazy.” A desperate laugh gurgled up from my lungs. “And I only just met her.”

  Elias clapped me on the shoulder. “This is good for you. Getting out of your apartment, walking around in the real world, interacting with actual people instead of online, and crushing on a hot little number like Scarlet.”

  “I’m not crushing on her.”

  He adopted a faux serious expression. “Right. Just business. I forgot. My bad.”

  “You’re worse than a meddling aunt in a Victorian novel.”

  “You lost me there.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Want to grab some lunch?”

  “Can’t. Linda set up a photo shoot of Scarlet over in Greenwich. She wants me to be there to make sure it all fits my bra
nd.” I would have done air quotes around “brand” but my hands were full.

  “Nudes?”

  At the thought of Scarlet lying on a divan and telling me to “draw me like one of your French girls,” my cock twitched. At this rate, I was regressing to my thirteen-year-old self with a Victoria’s Secret stash and a penchant for vacuuming alone in my room.

  “Hahaha!” He punched my shoulder. “Look at that face. Now you’re picking up what I’m putting down, baking what I’m shaking, painting what I’m priming, bagging what I’m scanning, snacking what I’m packing, sniffing what I’m—”

  “Please stop.” I held my bag-laden hand up.

  He nodded. “Well, you get the idea.”

  “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work?” I stared down the street, on the lookout for a taxi.

  “Yeah, the SquickyLube waits for no man. They’re working on the prototypes right now. We’re going to have some meetings with lube manufacturers next week, then pick one to be the initial provider on the new models.”

  “Sounds like you’re really greasing the wheels of progress over at Jizzlywinks.”

  He winked. “I’m an up and comer.”

  I groaned. “This conversation really needs to be over.”

  “No problem. I need to brainstorm over my next design idea. I already have a name for it. Just don’t know the specifics yet.” He elbowed me as I hailed a cab. “Want to know the name?”

  Might as well. “Sure. Hit me.”

  “The Shitake Shocker.” He splayed his hands out in front of him as if these words appeared on a billboard across the street, complete with fireworks and neon.

  “That verges on terrifying.” I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Elias could make a sad mime laugh out loud.

  “But just think how nice it’ll look in ads on Scarlet Rocket. Got a nice thick mushroom head on one end, and on the other—”