The First Taste(6)

Amelia covers herself with the stack in her arms and one by one, papers start to flutter from her folder. “Goddamn it,” she says, dropping the magazines to the sidewalk with a smack. A breeze scatters the scribble-covered pages away.

I keep my arms over my chest, watching her scurry around in an attempt to recover everything. “Well, don’t just stand there,” she snaps, barely glancing up. “This stuff is important.”

I shake my head, chuckling to myself, and jog past her to retrieve the ones that skittered the farthest. I manage to grab them all, but not before a suit on legs with a cell attached to his ear walks right over them. “Hey, *,” I say loud enough for him to hear. He doesn’t bother to respond.

When I turn back, I’m greeted with a startling and welcome sight. Amelia’s bent over, piling the contents of the folder on top of the magazines. The chick has barely an ounce fat on her, but she’s got an ass like a couple of cantaloupes and I’m suddenly the kind of hungry that can’t be satisfied with pizza. There’s definitely enough for me to get a handful—and it’s giving her rack a run for its money.

I let my eyes travel down her sculpted calves—is she a runner?—to her thin ankles and high, high black heels. The sleeping giant in me wakes, as if my body knows I finally have a weekend with nowhere to be—a rare couple days without the all-consuming responsibility of raising a six-year-old. My mood morphs. Curiosity gives way to intrigue. I stalk back toward her, and when she’s gathered herself and is upright again, I hold out the stack I managed to collect. There’s a footprint smudge on top of a paper printed with paragraphs of terms and conditions. She looks at it, blinks, and starts to laugh.

I grin, caught off guard by her sudden openness. “That’s one way to get the message across,” I say.

“It certainly is.” She wipes the corner of one eye and pauses. “Wait, to who?”

“Your husband.”

Her face freezes. She goes to take the papers, but she has a thermos in one hand and the package in the other. She extends her elbow a little bit, just enough for me to slip the pages in. I don’t.

“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” I ask, looking them over, noting the copious notes in the margin. “Divorce agreement or something?”

Her expression cools, and even though she’s done nothing but boss me around and attempt to belittle me since we met, I feel instantly bad about ruining her good mood. She doesn’t seem the type to laugh easily.

“Never mind.” I straighten the papers in my pile, sticking the handwritten notes on the bottom before grabbing more pages out of her hands.

“What are you—”

“You said they’re important.” I check the page numbers and start getting the contract back in order while she watches.

“They don’t know we’re still married,” she says.

I glance up at her quickly before returning to my project. “Who?”

“Anyone. I told everyone it was done months ago when it was supposed to be, but it’s not yet. So please don’t mention it to your sister.”

“Why not?”

“It’s . . . complicated, and I don’t want them to worry about—”

“No,” I cut her off. I have no reason to mention it to Sadie, and it’s Amelia’s prerogative to keep it private. “I meant, why isn’t it done?”

“Oh.” Her eyes dart away. “Like I said. It’s complicated.”

“What isn’t?”

“Not much these days, I guess.” She glances at the pages between us. “I should go.”

I don’t give them to her. I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet. In the four years I’ve been single, I’ve had plenty of opportunities with eager women. I can’t remember one who treated me like such a nuisance, though. It’s almost nice, the change of pace, and since I’ve got nowhere to be, I might as well see where it leads. I nod behind her. “So this is your business?”

She looks up the building toward her floor and nods. “And no, my dad didn’t give me the capital to start it.”

This girl is feisty, but the more annoyed she seems, the more I want to needle her. “So your mom then?”

She sets her jaw. “Actually, no. I worked through college and then my twenties, saving every dollar I could. I have an investor, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t bust my ass to get here.”

“Relax. I’m teasing you. I own a business too.”

She shifts on her feet, her eyes bouncing from the papers I won’t give her to my face. “Look, I don’t date. So whatever you’re doing, you can stop. I’m not interested.”

I lift my chin. I’d be impressed with her candor if my attention hadn’t snagged on what she’d said. “Don’t date what?” I ask. “Plumbers? Outside the tri-state area?”

“No, I just don’t date. Anyone. Period.”

I lean in a little and catch a whiff of her perfume. It’s dense, sophisticated, so different from the citrus-scented lotion of the girls I know at home. “Because you’re married?”

“No.”

“Something to do with the soon-to-be ex?”

She holds my gaze. “It doesn’t take a genius.”