Page 12 of Snap Shot

“So you're open to taking the case?” Bea jumps excitedly on the balls of her feet.

Landon may have tricked me into thinking he was some nice-boy-next-door back in grade seven, but that's ancient history. I won't fall for his charming act. Or brutal good looks.

“Nobody panic,buuuuutttt” —Gabe dips down to us, whispering behind a hand— “I think that's him. On the black couch in the gray suit.” Bea and I idle half a minute before we cartoonishly peek around either side of our friend's frame.

Fuck me. He's better-looking in person. Like Chris Evans cloned himself, but the clone is taller and beefier and outrageously hot in a suit. Pathetic. I'm pathetic. Is he looking at me? Why is he staring? Act natural. My gut twists. Stuffing my face with Instant Maggi for dinner was a mistake. What am I saying? Maggi is never a mistake. Comingherewas a mistake.

“I think I need to go home.”

“Home?” Gabe asks. “We just got here! You haven't met—”

“Don't care. Gotta go. It's an emergency.” I tug at their hands.

“Indi.” Gabe grabs both of my arms. “Tell me you're not avoiding Radek.”

“Apoopemergency.” The sweat beads on my brow and upper lip are convincing enough. It has them bee-lining behind me into a cab.

We stop at my place first since I'm the one with the supposed GI issue.

“Feel better, Indi!” Bea waves through the open window as the car peals away.

I rush towards the entrance and hastily wave back without looking.

A heap of unfolded laundry awaits when I enter the apartment. I throw my clutch on top and shovel the pile to the other side of the sectional so I, too, can become a heap on the sofa. My stomach gurgles, settling with the pressure of my weight against the cushion. I slip off the back of my shoes with my big toes, sighing out while unzipping this awful one-piece to unhook my bra and conk out without trying.

Horrible rattling wakes me the next morning. I fumble for the phone, ending its racket by unlocking it and squinting through mascara-clumped eyelashes at the screen.

Theresa Giachetti:How'd it go? Did you meet Radek?

Me:I met Cooke Wagner.

Me:The client was unavailable.

Not entirely a lie. Ididn'tsee Landon after I thought I caught him staring.

Theresa Giachetti:I see.

Maybe she'll give me a break. It's Saturday after all. I groan and roll, expecting a plush embrace of cushion, but it's the wrong way. “Wlah!” Off the edge of the couch, I fall with an unceremonious thump. “Ow. My back is broken.”

A low voice with a robotic lilt gives me permission to die.

Bane? Is this one of those inception dreams?I jolt upright from the rug-covered floor to see Gabe mouthing the rim of a coffee cup at the kitchen island. She hacks out a gravelly, villainous laugh. “Muahahahahaha!”

“You jerk!” I launch a decorative suede pillow from the couch in her direction. She dodges it. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“You're soeasy.” She looks downward at my bra-less chest and the straps slouching from my shoulders. “Rough night, eh?”

I zip back up to avoid giving her a free show. “You'reeasy!” Hissing at the too-loud volume of my own voice and lack of decent comeback, I sandwich my head between two rogue throw pillows. “I'm too old for this. How are you alive right now?”

“I'm a halfie. Dad's Swedish blood is mostly vodka.”

“How nice for you.” When I recline back to the floor with another groan, my phone buzzes again.

Theresa Giachetti:Find another time to make it happen.

“Ugh, Theresa. Let me be.”

“I thought you liked her?” Gabe rounds the sectional and steps over my ailing body to have a seat. The aroma of fresh, hot coffee lingers.

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