A spark of mischief lit his grin. “I don’t have science,” he said, stepping closer. “But I do have math. Hear me out.” He held up his hands, laying out his case. “Over the last three days, we’ve spent roughly sixty hours together—nonstop, give or take a bathroom stop. If the average first date lasts, let’s say, one to two hours? Then we already had ours. It was back at the food court in the mall. Fine dining. Shared fries.”
Leah stared at him, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry.
“Our second date? Picnic in the Niagara Falls parking lot. Romantic view, amazing snacks.” His voice softened as he held her gaze. “After that, most dates last, what? Two to five hours? Conservatively speaking, we’ve had—let’s see—twenty-four dates already? That’s a whole month of dating.”
Her heart thundered as she looked at him, this ridiculous, sincere man in front of her, laying out his argument like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Twenty-four dates, Leah,” he finished, his voice quiet but steady, as he cupped her face with a gentle caress. “I’m not saying it’s not fast. I’m saying… we’ve already put the time in. And it’s real.”
Leah swallowed, feeling the smile tug at her lips despite herself. “You’re very logical for a rock star.”
“Just leveling up the bucket list.”
Five things you can see…
Hotel minibar, luxe bathrobe, his bare foot. Leah’s sparrow tattoo in the dim light, her hair spread on the pillow.
It tickled against his shoulder. Avi kissed her temple, fingers finding hers. She stirred in her sleep, sliding a leg between his.Four things you can feel.
He heard the muted ding of a faraway elevator. Manhattan street traffic waking up below. Leah sighing in her sleep.
The hotel’s signature spice scent, all around. Clean skin. He inhaled deep, closing his eyes. Sex.
He tasted Leah on his lips.
As if on cue, Avi’s group chat lit up. It was Sylvie, kicking it off with her annual Ballers on the Baller photo.
Sylvie
A memorable Hanukkah for the OG Matzo Ballers…and some NG Ballers too. Love you guys.
Avi was commanding the stage. Not the acoustic auction stage or the main ballroom stage. It was the makeshift stage area out on the deck. He had been so busy tongue-twisting his way through that funky iconic rap, he’d barely noticed his entire crew on this year’s boat had shown up…and then some.
Jonah caught, suit flashing, in a Dance Fever move. Libby, laughing with her head back, hand on Nora’s arm, their eyes squeezed shut. Beck was boogying around them, with Talia and Asher –when the hell had he put on the fur coat?– mock-grinding and getting freaky. Even Jay and Rebecca had made itinto the perimeter of the shot, strolling in mid-conversation and captured unbeknownst to them.
Leah was in the center of it all, head tilted to the side, arms languid overhead. Lost in the dance, eyes closed and smiling happily.
The only trace of Sylvie was in the lower right-hand corner. One eye, one perfect brow. Flaxen hair, mussed by the breeze. Giving no clue as to the rest of her expression, perhaps deliberately leaving that to the eye of the beholder.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The guys in his crew gathered, once Jay recovered from his big night, for a Baller de-brief every year. Since Asher was now an integral part of theirmishpacha, his Chelsea bar played host that weekend. The guys decamped to the small patio bar out back to smoke cigars and recap the highlights.
Of course, Jay and Jonah wanted all the tea on Leah. And the doctor. And Sylvie…especially once they learned that one of the outlandish rumors spun about Avi over the past two months was more fact than fiction.
“A proposal? I can’t believe you two managed to keep that from us.” Jonah was incredulous. “Surely the girls all knew?”
“Not necessarily,” Jay mused. “The two of them have always been more alike with their – ” He waved a hand through the air for emphasis, or to clear the pungent smoke. “ – opaque personalities.”
“Face it.” Jonah stood, hands on hips where his ugly Hanukkah sweater hem met his jeans. Fully recovered from his hangover and the bump to his head. “You were almost in a big, six-sided polygon.” He clamped down on the cigar between his teeth. “A sextangle.”
Asher started collecting some of their empty glasses in a bus tub. “I think you meanhex. Hex is six.”
“It’s like the Magen David of love triangles,” Jonah continued. “You, Leah and Sylvie…” He traced the obnoxious sweater’s triangles one way, and then the other. “…and Leah, you and Dr. Rugelach.”
Jay warmed his hands over the fire pit table. “Isn’t that technically just a foursome?”
Avi didn’t agree with either of their bullshit calculations and good-natured ball-busting. He and Sylvie had been over for two months by the beginning of the road trip, and the doctor had never really been a contender.
