Page 17 of Someone Just Like You

“No glove, no love!” The addition was uncharacteristically immature for Alison, but drinking at dawn could have that effect.

“Stop it!” I braced myself for Jude’s snide protest of any suggestion the two of us would everget it done.

“We’ll handle it.” Jude looked at me, or at least I assumed he was looking at me. “I’ll call Mole to discuss. And to those who accusedusof acting like children: can you spell hypocrite?”

The meeting ended, and I called Jude. It went straight to voice mail. My instincts screamed that Jude was extremely anti–voice mail, which made leaving a message all the more tempting. Except I was trying to keep my priorities straight. Party planning—yay. Aggravating Jude for the pure pleasure of it—nay. But just as I opened up our text exchange, my phone rang—Jude. “I just called you. It went to voice mail.”

“Because I was calling you. Did you not hear me say I would call you? Must you always go first?”

“It depends on what activity you’re referring to.” I squirmed. Jude and I did not do sexual innuendo.

“I’ll leave that between you and your baseball player.”

“We’re not seeing each other anymore.” I brought my coffee cup to the kitchen sink. “Not that it’s any of your business…or that you care. What did you think about the call?”Priorities.

“I haven’t received a scolding like that from my siblings…or yours…since before puberty.”

Back in the living room, I flumped onto my couch. “So, since last month?” Jude made a noise that sounded like laughter, and it did something strange to my belly.

“There’s that mean flag I was talking about,” he said. “Remember the truce I pretended to propose?”

“Vaguely.”

“Let’s do it for real. Make peace, that is.”

I bit my lip. “Can I trust you?”Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…

Silence filled the phone waves as if the question required substantial thought. Finally, he answered. “At least until we decide on a restaurant.”

“Fair enough. Have you given any thought to the ones we’ve seen already?”

“Not really. Did you? Keep in mind, saying yes will not endear you to me.”

“In that case, yes. Haha.” I cleared my throat. “But no. I haven’t. I took notes, though. We could go over them together…if you want.”

“Tell me when and where.”

“Are you around this afternoon? We can do it at my place.” I jerked my head back. Did I just invite Jude Stark todo itat my apartment? “Or somewhere else?” Yes. Somewhere else would be better.

“Your place is great. Is two okay?”

“Perfect.” Not really, but since I’d offered my digs, it would be weird to renege now. “And Jude? Can you bring Yogi?” It was a spontaneous request, but if there was anything about Jude Ididlike, it was his dog.

Jude agreed, and we ended the call. Since I was already dressed…mostly…I treated myself to Daniel’s Bagels around the corner from my apartment.

While I waited for my bagel and an iced coffee, I people-watched. There was no better spot for it on a Saturday morning than a bagel shop in twenty–thirtysomething Murray Hill. It was a little early for the post-hangover crowd, but there was a trio of guys who looked like they hadn’t gone to sleep yet, a woman leaning on her husband (or someone else’s husband—he wore a ring but she didn’t) whose green complexion suggested she might not be able to keep down even one bite of a bagel, and a—

“Loud Whisper Girl.”

I jerked out of my people watching and smiled at the cute, messy-haired guy in front of me. “Good Hearing Guy!” It had been weeks since I’d bantered with the barback at Tuttles at closing time, yet despite the hundreds of women who frequented the bar on a given weekend, he remembered my loud whisper! I was determined to play it cool on the outside even while dancing on the inside.

“My friends call me Timothy. Early morning or late night?”

I smoothed my palm along my ponytail. “Early morning.” I’d stayed in the night before to review a new recruiting strategy passed down from Michael. Then I finished off a bottle of wine to forget everything I’d learned long enough to fall asleep.

I’d been trying to escape Michael’s radar by pausing my pre-interview vetting practices, but I worried I was betraying my candidates, most of whom were more concerned with salary and benefits than work environment. I considered it inherent to my job to think beyond the quantifiable questions asking, “How much?” and dig deeper, even if Michael disagreed. Each time I skipped that all-important step, the guilt burned through me like Satan had taken up residence inside my conscience.

“What about you? Just wake up or out all night?” The answer was in the pillow-and-sheet markings on his face similar to Jude’s from earlier. In a “who wore it better” contest, Timothy won by a landslide.

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