Page 25 of The Cartographer

“Cris or Mano?”

“You named the dog.” It’s not a question, just an observation, and I rub the bridge of my nose.

“He had a name already.” Her words are shaped by her scowl. At least I haven’t lost total radio contact with my self-protective India. “Cris is in our bedroom, and Mano’s sitting on the couch with me. He’s a great dog, hadn’t been at the shelter long. Australian Shepherd mix. I’d send you a picture, but I don’t know if I’ll have to take him back.”

There’s a rustle in the background, and as if it’s going to help, I strain to decipher the noise.

“Hey, hold on,” India says into the phone, and then I’m guessing she pulls the phone to her shoulder because everything becomes muffled. It’s the most maddening thing in the world.Let me hear it already, because I know I’ll be getting it secondhand in a moment anyhow. Especially since I heard my name. I hope Cris isn’t upset she called me, but he can’t be surprised. They talk for a couple of minutes, and though it’s indistinct, there’re no raised voices or angry tones. Then she’s back.

“Sorry about that.”

“Do you want to call me back?” I don’t want to stand in the way of dialogue, especially given our history. No matter how much I’d like to play puppet master with the two of them, mash their faces together like Barbie dolls—kiss and make up already, dammit—I won’t because I’ve been asked not to interfere and I’ll be respectful of her wishes. Until I can’t anymore.

“No, he’s gone again.”

“What did he want?”

She laughs, a short chary sound that’s almost a sob. “He wanted the dog.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. Because of course he did. I bet Cris is rubbing the mutt behind the ears as we speak. Maybe India wasn’t being so dumb after all. “You guys are going to be okay. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

Chapter Nine

‡

After I’ve finisheda session with one of my favorite couples on the East Coast and I’m on my way to have dinner with my mother, I check my voicemail. The missed call number is familiar, and my heartrate speeds up. Hart. I haven’t changed his number to a nickname because I need to think of something worthy for this man who’s stolen more of my thoughts over the past week than I’d like to admit.

I put up the screen in the back of the car. Mostly for show because Kirill’s driven me before and he’s the soul of discretion. Besides, even though he’s three thousand miles away and wouldn’t be able to tell one way or the other, I like to respect my dalliance’s feelings. Hart’s a private sort about these matters, and I don’t think he’d care for me chatting about blowjobs in front of my chauffeur. Because I’m assuming that’s what we’re going to talk about.

It’s not surprising to me that, when I check the message, there’s not actually anything there besides a slight whooshing sound, perhaps as Hart holds his phone away from his ear, trying to decide whether to say something into the void. I could call him back, but honestly, I’d like to be on the other side for a change. To be pursued, even if he’s only in pursuit of some head.

I toy with the phone in my hands. How long can I keep up the façade of not being interested enough to dial him? I’m downright delighted he tries again. Because I’m a manipulative son-of-a-bitch, I let it ring three times before I pick up.

“Hart, so glad you called.”

I hope he enjoys the languid caramel of my voice. It practically oozes sex and sensuality, and I picture him shifting in his chair. Or perhaps his truck, because he’s sure as hell not making this call from his sister’s. Fuck it.

“What are your plans tonight? Besides blowing me?”

His brazenness amuses me, but I keep the laugh inside because I wouldn’t mind playing that way with him for a bit. He’ll find out soon enough that, even if I’m the one physically on my knees, he’s still at my mercy.

“As much as I’d love to suck you off, I’m actually on my way to dinner. With my mother. In New York.”

There’s a beat and then a petulant and slightly abashed, “Oh.”

“I’ll be back on…Thursday if you don’t mind a raincheck. I’ll even take you to dinner first. Meet me at Souray’s, eight o’clock. Unless you’re watching the kids,” I add as an afterthought. Never will I make him choose between them and me, though I’m used to other people—powerful people—dropping myriad things for an hour with me for which they’ll pay handsomely. Here Hart’s getting me for free. A bargain.

“Kendra’s got Thursday off—”

I don’t wait for him to finish because that’s plenty enough leeway. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

And click. I picture Allie holding the phone away from his ear, maybe muttering curses as he realizes I’ve hung up on him. But he’ll be there. Oh, he’ll be there.

*

Two days later,he is. Looking as though he must have borrowed his sister’s iron, he walks in wearing a button-down of the palest mint green and dark grey slacks, black belt, and black shoes that show off the polishing skills he must’ve honed in the military. The quality of his clothes isn’t terribly high, but he’s mouthwatering in them anyhow and he gets even more so when he sees me in the back booth and smiles, his cheeks growing round and his lips spreading to bare those fabulously white teeth.

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