Trent pins me with a hard glare and a promise to hit me square in the nuts if I don’t shut the fuck up.
I shrug and pick up my rum and Coke for another pull. I probably shouldn’t be so hard on the guy. He’s good-natured to a fault and gives the benefit of the doubt to everyone. I must sound like a real asshole to get him this upset, but I just can’t seem to find it in me to care. They’re always on my ass to change my ways, to give in to the pressure of a one-woman ride for the rest of my life. I’d go crazy if I didn’t push back every once in a while.
“You just don’t understand, man,” Trent tells me before elbowing Quince to get his attention so he can speak to him. “Cap doesn’t understand what it’s like to have what you have with Emory or what I have with Greer. You know that. You remember how you felt before you met the one, right?”
Quince nods, his signature smile returning a little. “I guess so.”
“One day,” Trent professes, “he’s gonna find a woman who turns his life upside down, and we won’t have to listen to all of his bullshit anymore.”
I scoff and snort. They’re going to be waiting a long damn time if they really believe that.
“There’s a woman out there who’ll be his match.” Trent blathers the fuck on like he actually knows me better than I know myself. “Who’ll show him the way and fuck his shit up so bad, he’ll have to come to us for advice to get out of it. And goddamn, Quince, I can’t wait for it.”
I roll my eyes.
Quince smiles full out now, the goofy grin I know so well shining so brightly it eats through his face all the way to his ears. “Man, I can’t wait to meet her and watch Cap fall right on his ass.”
Trent laughs. “Right?”
“Whatever, guys. All this love-sick bullshit is really starting to eat away at your brain cells.”
“Trust us, dude,” Trent says. “It’s coming. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it happens even sooner than you think.”
I shake my head and shove off of my stool, grabbing my wallet from my pocket and tossing cash on the bar, and I give both of the naïve assholes slaps on the back.
“Have fun with your fantasies, guys,” I remark. “I’m gonna go have some fun with a woman.”
Trent’s smirk is almost as convincing as mine as he turns from the bar just enough to slap me on the back. “Sounds good in theory, buddy, but I know the reality.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“Quince and I know we’re going home to a warm woman. You have to find one first.”
I don’t bother sticking around to prove him wrong, and instead, scan the women on the way out of the bar. It’d be relatively easy to convince one to come home with me—I know from past experience—but none of them are whetting my appetite tonight.
Kind of like Yvette. Or Tess. Or Sally.
Fuck. Seems like I might need to start looking new places
Or maybe I need to start really laying the groundwork for that pretty little blond gemstone with the sexy eyes and smart mouth…
Trent’s stupid comments continue to niggle somewhere in the back of my mind, but I shut them up with a whistle for a cab right as it sails straight past me.
Fucking New York cabbies.
Without any other potential taxis in sight, I wrap my jacket a little tighter and start to walk in the direction of home.
Maybe, I think with a smirk, I’ll find something—or someone—to play with on the way there.
Cap
The normally busy streets are dimmed by the late hour, and the twinkling lights of stores beckon to no one. I can hear myself think for a change, and I bask in it.
My normally salacious gaze turns contemplative, and I mostly just savor the quiet walk rather than keeping my eyes peeled on other people…and when I say other people, I obviously mean beautiful women.
With Liz off on maternity leave and Hillary doing everything in her power to make my life a living hell, work has been kicking my ass.
The normal legwork that my right-hand woman had been so accustomed to juggling with her fucking pinky finger has now been tossed into my lap, and I’ve been chasing my fucking tail ever since.
This is the first time in what feels like weeks that my thoughts haven’t been a chaotic mess of work-focused tasks and legal mumbo jumbo.
I’ve lived in the city for most of my life, but I’ve never thought of myself as an actual city person. I like the quiet nights of endless fields and the unpolluted shine of a starry sky. I like to breathe clean air in my own space and hear something other than the sound of horns and hostility at every corner.
But I’m also pragmatic, and one of my truest strengths is being able to adapt.
I know the corporate law landscape, and it resides in a city, with skyscrapers, CEOs, and sky-high property values. As a result, so do I.
My tie loose and my jacket over my arm, I make it to my building in no time, the sleek pull of its glass windows and modern lines jutting into the sky like a flag waving me in.
But I know myself, and with the way my mind still runs, I won’t be able to fall asleep for hours.
So, instead of going up the elevator and into my loft and lying in bed with wide eyes for hours, I keep walking.
Up the block, around the corner, it all bleeds together until I don’t even know how far I’ve walked anymore.
Fortunately, with the way this city is, I know I’ll come across something familiar soon and, eventually, I’ll make my way back home.
I look across the street to a diner I’ve never seen before, tucked so acutely into a back corner of the city that I’ve never had the pleasure of making its acquaintance, and I decide to say hello to a cup of coffee and a slice of pie and whatever walks of life still reside within its walls.
If there is one thing to be said about this city, it doesn’t matter what time of day it is or where you’re at, New York is prime for the best kind of people-watching in the world.
I jump the curb and stroll across the street, and when I push open the door, a tinkly bell rings above me.
The young girl at the front cash register looks up with a pleasant smile that turns more scandalous when she gets a look at me.
I’m gifted in this department—I’ve always gotten this kind of reaction. But I’m grateful for the luck and do my best not to let it go to waste.
“How many?” the brunette asks, standing up straight and pushing out her chest. She’s well below my age limit, though, so I avert my eyes as politely as possible. “Just me, thanks.”
She grabs a menu from the shelf with a smile then and waves me on to follow her, and I don’t miss the way she puts a little extra sway in her hips as she leads me to a booth.
I round her when she stops at the table and carefully avoid brushing up against her body—which she’s placed in a way that almost ensures I do—and settle into the booth.
“Do you have everything you need?” she asks with a flirtatious little bat of her eyelashes.
I nod and then look down at my menu. “Yes, thanks.”
I can feel her there staring at me, but I don’t look up until she’s gone. My smile has a way of saying things for me—a feature I mostly cherish—but in this case, I have to be careful with it.