Page 25 of Levee

“To what end?” I asked.

“Usually, hotel rooms and hooking up,” he admitted.

“Makes sense,” I decided, glancing around. These were all stupidly handsome men in the prime of their lives. What else would a night out involve besides hooking up?

I was suddenly frustrated that I’d agreed to having a late dinner with Lily and Curtis after the kids went to bed.

Because the idea of Levee hooking up with some other girl to end his night made my stomach feel like there was a pit in it. Even if, objectively, I had no claim on the man. We had a little half hookup. It wasn’t like he belonged to me.

“I was actually thinking of ending the night at Teddy’s place, then dropping by my uncle’s in the morning. Hoping to run into you.”

“Teddy? The one who helped Curtis?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s a friend of the club. Has a penthouse in Miami. We crash there when we’re in the area sometimes.”

“Were you really going to try to run into me, or are you just laying it on thick?” I asked. “I’m fine with either answer,” I told him. Even if, in my heart, I was kind of hoping for the former.

“I had a whole plan and everything. I was going to bring bagels. Then say something about how I got too many. And then offer you one. That we wouldn’t even get to eating.”

“Oh, really? What would we get distracted by?” I asked, taking another long sip of my champagne.

“An in-depth discussion of the Impressionists, of course,” he teased, making a little laugh burst out of me. “And that would, inevitably, lead to an analysis of Expressionism and Surrealism…”

“Someone paid attention in art class.”

“I, ah, may or may not have looked up some art shit in the hopes of impressing you.”

“That is the cutest thing I’ve heard in a long time. And I heard a little kid refer to pasta as persketti this week,” I told him, charmed. No one had ever done art research for me before.

“It’s hard to beat persketti,” Levee agreed.

“So, in your research, what painting did you like best?”

“Well, I mean, theHome Aloneone is always a hit.”

“The…Home Aloneone?” I asked, squinting at him.

Levee reached out to set his cup into a holder, then pressed his hands to either side of his face, mouth open.

Another laugh escaped me at that. “The Scream,” I told him. “By Edvard Munch.”

“Yeah, that one. I kinda liked that one with the girl with the pearl earring in her lobe too. Kind of sad, but passionate look in her eye. What was that one called?”

“The Girl with the Pearl Earring,” I told him.

“Yeah, that one.”

“But I think I have a new favorite artist. She’s got a real pretty name, too. Jade…”

“Holland,” I told him.

“Right. That’s her name. Jade Holland. She paints a mean goldfish.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“Me, personally? No. The club has a tortoise and a macaw named Mackie. And we’re all in charge of taking care of them.”

“So, you’re at the club a lot?” I asked.

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