Page 20 of Synced to Us

My hand slams above hers on the pole. The train lurches forward and in an instant, she’s flush against my chest.

Yet, instead of being intimidated, she upticks her chin and smiles up at me, flashing those perfect teeth and breathing near my mouth.

Her cinnamon-scented exhale raises her allure to intoxicating levels. When the train lurches again, I pretend the momentum makes me sway back and not my growing half-chub.

At the next stop, we’re faced with a wave of passengers clamoring for space in the car. My plan goes kaput and I end up closer and closer to Dee until that insolent chin of hers digs into my chest.

As soon as she’s pressed against me—this time for the long haul—her smile falls.

I can’t say I’m disappointed, because I’m starting to love stepping into this girl’s comfort zone and making those plump lips of hers pout.

* * *

It’s surprisingly disappointing to separate from Dee once we reach Forty-Second Street, and I lead her aboveground into Grand Central Station.

The main concourse is a hub of activity. Suits and tourists rush or pointedly walk underneath the domed constellation ceiling, silhouetted by the fading evening light filtering through the high arched windows bordering the sides.

There are so many people, enough to drown out Dee’s scent and replace it with sweat, industrial cleaning solution, and stale food.

“Where to now?” Dee’s voice is tight as she keeps close. I think she’s learned her lesson about straying too far away from me in a crowd.

“Over there.” I point to the other side of the concourse. “Is Grand Central new to you? Have you never used it?”

Dee ponders for a moment. “I’ve been upstate, just not via train.”

The pause between my question and her answer provides enough information for me to deduce upstate was probably where a few of her johns lived. “They brought you to their homes?”

Dee’s body stiffens against my back. “Not their main ones. Usually their vacation homes.”

“Ah.” But I don’t get it. Mostly because I don’t know what kind of rich douche would vacay upstate when a place in Manhattan is pennies to them. “What was the most popular town? Bronxville? I’m betting on—”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Oh. Sure. Coffee?”

Dee’s grip on my arm tightens again, either in surprise or anger—I’m never sure which.

She says suspiciously, “So…you’re going to drop the subject. Just like that.”

Like I’d keep pestering her on being a call girl when the convo clearly makes her uncomfortable. I thought she’d be all about owning her past, like McKenna is, but I’m guessing Dennis has made her a little trigger happy. His threats got to her more than she lets on. Hell, if it were me, I’d tell the boss how my hard-working ass got me this job in the first place, remind him I’m awesome, then drop-kick Dennis out a window as a bonus. I suppose Dee has more mature plans and aims to protect her past rather than air it out.

I motion with my chin, figuring my actions to veer us in another direction are answer enough. “There’s a great spot over there.”

“Okay…yeah.” Her hand loosens on my bicep.

“Excellent.”

I veer us into Zabar’s, where the scent of fresh bagels drowns out Dee’s delicious fragrance by a teeny fraction.

As soon as the cashier catches my eye over the tops of many waiting heads who’ve already placed their order, I call, “Toasted everything with schmear and a medium light and sweet.” I glance down at Dee. “You?”

“You’re going to eat and drink that on a moving train?”

Annoyed glances and grumbles flow our way as more patrons file in behind us and want their turn. “There’s not a whole lotta time to answer your questions. Coffee or no?”

“I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” I nod to the guy to let him know my order’s done.

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