Page 45 of Bad Love

Kendall’s not married. I can’t picture her seeing anyone and not mentioningit.

Though she didn’t mention she had a kideither.

I should drop it. Forget the kiss everhappened.

I don’t want to dropit.

“I know what you’rethinking.”

Monty’s gruff voice cuts into mythoughts.

“I doubtit.”

“You’re thinking perhaps your esteemed former classmates are right and being a mom doesn't preclude Kendall from wanting what anyonewants.”

I cock my head. “Now that’s justfreaky.”

My friend pulls up at an intersection, his face ruddy in the streetlight. “Don’t get involved with the woman who's helping you win the most important bet of your life because your dick's itchy. Especially when her life’s more complicated thanyours.”

“First, there’s no ‘getting involved.’ You’re the twenty-four seven meat and potatoes boyfriend. I’m a chocolate fudge cake that shows up after dark when a woman needs it bad and makes her forget hername.”

I shove my hands in my pockets, frustration coursing throughme.

"Second, you think I don’t know that? It would be easy,except…”

“Exceptwhat.”

We cross the streettogether.

“Ilikeher,Monty.”

We’re silent for half a block as if he’s processing. Fair enough because I can’t remember the last time I was interested enough in a woman to tell my friend about her, not to mention ask foradvice.

“So, what’re you gonna do?” he asks atlast.

“What I have to,” I decide with asigh.

I need to be a grown-up and push this attractionaside.

Put something else ahead ofmyself.

Even if all I can think about is kissing heragain.

“Would be a helluva lot easier if I could go back and unlearn everything I’ve learned about her. She could just help me sell sex toys in peace,” Igrunt.

My best friend shakes his head. “Your life’s not boring, Hunter. I’ll give youthat.”

* * *

Saturday morning,I roll up to Sarabeth's on the Upper WestSide.

They seat me overlooking the gardeninside.

Three minutes later, my grandmother arrives. The woman is a force in any room, in any clothes. But she always looks put together—not for the world, for herself. Her short, gray hair is shiny and styled, her lipstick on. Silver jewelry glints from under the collar of her dressshirt.

I rise to embrace her. "Grams."

Her gaze rolls down me and back up. I'm in my best—a button-down and chinos, plus soft leather dress shoes. "You look like abanker."

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