Page 39 of Parallel

“Trevor, I love you, but we’re not stalking him, and we’redefinitelynot trying to climb up another balcony. You nearly fell to your death lasttime.”

Trevor ignores me, holding out his phone. “I foundhim.”

Caroline leans over his shoulder. “Oh my God, Quinn. He was a swimmer? You know that’s mykryptonite.”

Trevor looks her over. “Precious, anything with a package is your kryptonite. And believe me, this guy has a package. I could tell just by the way he carriedhimself.”

I roll my eyes. “You could notjusttell.”

“I’ve seen a lot of dicks, honey, so yes, I can, but I’ll prove it. Let me find a photo of him in aSpeedo.”

The two of them comb through photos while I pretend this isn’t happening. “That one,” whispers Caroline, sounding like the lead detective on a police procedural. “Zoomin.”

“Oh, Lord,” says Trevor. “Quinn, you need to lock thatdown.”

Caroline grins at me. “You reallydo.”

I huff in exasperation. “I’mengaged, morons! And you’re both in the wedding. I’m not sure why I need to keep remindingyou.”

“Just look at the photo,” Caroline urges, snatching Trevor’s phone from his hand and waving it in myface.

I fold my arms across my chest and close my eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to look at a picture of my doctor in a Speedo.” In part, because I’ve already seen thosephotos.

“Mmm,” Trevor says, licking his lips. “You know what I’d love? A photo of him in tighty-whities. Damp tighty-whities. My birthday falls right before Christmas. Get one for me. It could be a combinationgift.”

“I’m not sure how familiar you are with modern medicine, Trevor, but inthiscountry, we don’t routinely spend time with our physicians whilst dressed in wet tighty-whities.”

He pouts. “I feel like you’re not eventrying.”

19

QUINN

On Friday morning, I arrive at my office but don’t go inside. Instead I scan the street for Nick, who’s meeting me here for the trip to New Jersey. He offered to pick me up at home, but it seemed too intimate, somehow. I struggle to ignore the voice in my head insisting that the way we’re meeting, on the surface, looks a lot likecheating.

I spy him in a Jeep, idling on the sidewalk with the top down, and my heart does this dorky little skip at the sight ofhim.

“Hi, stranger,” I say, leaning my head in the window. “You wouldn’t happen to feel like driving me to New Jersey, wouldyou?”

He smiles at me just the way I remember from some other time, sheepish and cocky atonce.

“Sure, pretty girl in a dress. Climb in, and I’ll drive you anywhere youwant.”

I open the door and hoist myself in. “You’d make a terribleabductor.”

“I am anexcellentabductor, I’ll have youknow.”

“You didn’t even offer me candy. Candy is the lynchpin to a successfulabduction.”

He grins and reaches into the back, behind the passenger seat, and places a box of Hot Tamales in my lap. I stare at it. “This is my favoritecandy.”

His smile falters a little. “Lucky guess.” Yes, a lucky guess…like knowing my favorite pasta and being so certain I was an architect when we first met. He doesn’t see a past with me the way I do, but that knowledge exists somewhere inside himanyway.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” he asks. “We could just play hookyinstead.”

For a single moment I allow myself to consider it. What would playing hooky with Nick consist of? A thousand possibilities occur to me and all of them appeal. I exhale. “As off-putting as I found Grosbaum’sexcitementabout my inoperable tumor, I do feel like I have to check thisout.”

I plug the address into the GPS while he maneuvers through the crowded back streets of Georgetown to get us to Canal Road. I’ve felt vaguely guilty about the fact that I’m doing this without telling Jeff, but he’s traveling again and it’s a sunny day—not a cloud in the sky—so I decide I’m just going to give in to the experience. I may not even be around next summer, so if I want to have one perfect day with Nick—a day that actuallyhappened—this is myshot.

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