Page 101 of Caper Crush
I look over at the entrance.
Me:W spotted.
Tessa:Text me where u r going. Will wait.
William’s tall frame is easy to spot in the crowds. Walking my bike, I trail after him and Kiyoko, staying on the sidewalk opposite them. It’s difficult to maneuver here walking a bike, but it’s too crowded to cycle the wrong way against the east-going traffic. One guy curses me as I try to pass by with my bicycle.
“Love you too, buddy,” I say.
I sidestep around the man holding theHop On, Hop Offbus sign.
They now wait at the streetlight. It’s just William and Kiyoko. I’d feel better if it was a group. I should text some stimulating accounting questions for discussion. For example, can you take a stolen painting as a loss on your taxes? How do you value it?
A line snakes outside Carmine’s. I walk my bike in the street because there’s no room on the sidewalk. They are now ahead of me, walking by the Schubert Theatre. He ducks his head to listen to what she is saying. I bump the bike back onto the sidewalk, walking under the yellow signs that sayNow Playingin black capital letters. Once I pass the theaters, I get back in the street and bicycle the wrong way to catch up to them.
At Eighth Avenue, they turn right to walk uptown. I text Tessa. At least now I can ride with the traffic in the bike path across the street. Still, between the traffic and cars suddenly turning, I have to pay attention to biking. They finally head into Social Bar and Grill. I stop a little down the block and wheel the bike into a space between parked cars to text Tessa.
Me:Social Bar & Grill, 8thand 49thSt.
“Miranda!” Tessa shouts from down the block. She runs up.
“How’d you get here so fast?”
“I left as soon as you texted,” Tessa says.
“I’ve got to return the bike,” I say. “Do you want to go inside? Don’t let them see you.”
“There’s only so much I can disappear,” she says wryly, “but I will stay in the front and hope they’re in the back.”
I cross the street and slot the Citi Bike into the rack, pushing hard to make sure it registers as returned.
Tessa:No William in sight. Should I grab table at front?
Me:Yes.
I shouldn’t be spying on him. I don’t know what I’m doing. I trust him.
I slip through the door and look for Tessa.
But no single women grace the high tables in the front—only couples. I order a beer. TV screens showing an NBA game dominate the space. The conversations are loud. Next to me, at the bar, a group of men argue about a bad call. This place definitely does not have a romantic vibe. I smile.
“Miranda!” Tessa waves from a table where she’s sitting with a guy. I walk over with my beer.
“Miranda, this is Ron.” Tessa raises her glass of beer. “He just bought me a drink, but I explained that we’re having a girls’ night out, so we’re not meeting guys.”
“And I have a boyfriend,” I say primly.
“But I don’t,” Tessa says cheekily. “Here, I’ll take your number.”
“Don’t you want me to take your number?” the guy asks.
“No, I like to be the one to make the decision whether to call,” Tessa says.
He does a double take but smiles and gives Tessa his number.
Tessa takes his number, and he returns to his friends at the bar.
“He’s cute,” I say.
