Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“You want the whole list of reasons, or just my top three?”
“Absolutely. If there’s a list, give me a list.”
She stares out over Manhattan for a few seconds. “I think I can sum it up by saying I’m embarrassed.”
What on earth could she be embarrassed about?
“Did we meet in Manhattan?”
She nods.
“If not in work, then at a bar?”
She nods again.
That doesn’t really narrow it down. Manhattan has over ten thousand bars. And I’m pretty sure I’ve been to most of them over the last couple of years. “You’re a tease,” I say.
“Honestly, I’m not.” Her expression is all worry. Despite the fact I want to know where we met, I don’t want her to stress about it.
She stands. “I should go. I’m meeting Sophia for a cocktail. I need to change.”
I can’t help but stare at her as she walks past me on the sofa. Have I seen her before? And just then, as she turns her head back to look at me, I see something. There’s a glimmer of recognition.
“Hey,” I say.
She stops and turns to face me. I stand so we’re just a couple of feet apart. And then I see it—can’t possibly unsee it. And I realize why I haven’t recognized her before now. “You’re Mystique.”
She rolls her eyes and goes to leave, but I grab her arm.
“Hey, wait a minute.”
She stills, and I drop my hand.
“You never called me.”
She lets out a cynical laugh. “Nope. But I’m sure one of the other girls you gave your number to that night did.”
“What?”
“I have to go.”
“Just wait a minute. What are you talking about?”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Yeah, I went to the no-costume party in a costume.”
“It was a great costume.” She’d looked absolutely phenomenal. I remember being mesmerized by her beautiful eyes and trying my best to keep my eyes above her neck. She was fire. And I loved the fact she’d followed the comic book version of the character and not just done the obvious route with the movie version. But it was more than just her costume that had me interested that night. I felt a connection to her that I hadn’t felt in a long time. She seemed so… down-to-earth. Despite the fact she was blue, she wasn’t trying too hard. She was being one hundred percent herself. As much as I love New York, that’s rare.
Her smile that night is still etched in my brain. I’ve thought about that woman more than once since that night.
And now here she is, right in front of me.
She nods her head in agreement. “Yeah. And I had to go.”
“Yeah, you were playing wingman to your friend. But I gave you my number because you wouldn’t give me yours. But you never called because…”
“Because I could see you were a…”
I lift my eyebrows, waiting for her to finish her sentence.
“So that’s our history,” she says. “No big secret.”
“But why are you embarrassed?”
“You mean other than the fact that I was dressed as a bright blue mutant at a very non-costume party? Oh, and that you gave your number to another girl minutes after you thought I’d left?”
Had I given my number out to someone else? I remember being gutted Mystique never reappeared. I thought I’d left right after. “I didn’t give my number to anyone else,” I say, searching my brain. The night had lost all its shine after she left. I remember leaving a little deflated, disappointed that Mystique had left but excited about having met her. I know I didn’t leave with anyone that night. I remember my head being full of… a bright blue mutant.
She rolls her eyes at me. “I went to the restroom and came out and watched you hand your phone to a woman who typed in—her number presumably. Then she handed it back to—”
“Oh my god!” I interrupt, finally putting the pieces of the puzzle together. “You mean Jean!”
“Her name was Jean? As in Grey?” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t tell me, your baby sister, right?” she says sarcastically, anticipating a lie from me. She really has some trust issues.
“No, not my baby sister. My hair stylist. She’d moved from the salon where she’d been cutting my hair for years to set up on her own. She wanted me to switch.”
“Of course she did.”
I shrug. “I can’t make you believe me.” What could I do to convince her? I don’t know if I have any actual evidence. I know I shouldn’t have to prove that I’m telling the truth, and Jules’ distrust doesn’t make me bristle; instead, it just helps me see that something’s broken inside her.
I pull out my phone. “She messaged me that Monday. What date was the party?” I glance up at her.
“Twelfth of April, two years ago.”
I go to search and then look back to Jules. How did she have that date so close to mind?