“Doesn’t work for me.” He went back to his cell phone. “How’s Sunday afternoon around three?”
She figured that morning he’d be sleeping off a big Saturday night frolic. He didn’t sport a wedding ring, but that didn’t mean he didn’t frolic with a wife. “Not possible then, either. Sorry.” Her cousin Dominique had agreed to drop over around four to help with the proposal Molly planned to submit to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. She would cancel except for a looming deadline.
He nodded his head. “See, you’re trying to avoid a showdown. You know I’m right.”
“You’re wrong on both counts. I can meet you tonight around six.” That would turn tonight into the second Friday in a row she’d have to bail out of the poker game. But she wanted to get this search over with, like quadruple ASAP.
“Can’t make it.”
“Well, then, I guess that only leaves Sunday morning. Or perhaps now you’d like to postpone this indefinitely.”
The mouth that had smiled so invitingly only a couple of minutes before sank into a frown. “I … okay, I can try to squeeze it in.”
“Thank you.” She managed to get the words out without too much sarcasm — which, where Nick Mancini was concerned, didn’t come easily. If he was going to have an overnight guest, too bad. He’d just have to kick her out of the sack early.
“All right, where do you live?” he asked.
“Why do you want to know that?”
The broad shoulders under his T-shirt slumped, and he blew air out through his mouth. “So I can pick you up.”
“Oh.” At least he refrained from adding “stupid.” “I can meet you here. I don’t give out my address to people I don’t know.”
He stared at her for such a long time she wondered if he’d had some sort of seizure. What luck they were in a medical office.
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