25
Saturday
NICOLE LAMB
Nicole didn’t think she was falling in love because falling in love had to take months or years to happen. Love was the accumulation of shared experiences, common ground, and trust.
Kingston had been in her life for only a few days, so this was just twitterpation, or maybe that he was really good at batting for the home run, so to speak, or that he was drop-dead gorgeous with his highly symmetrical, testosterone-carved features and genetically recessive blue-eye trait.
That was just science.
This magnetic feeling of needing to be in the same room with him, craving to touch him, the urge to very precisely draw her eyeliner and lipstick so he would look at her, too, wanting to know moreand moreabout who he was and what he thought, that wasn’tlove.
That was just, like, hormones or something.
And then, there was thetallthing.
Tall was a thing. Everybody knew it.Tallwas scientifically proven, as much as psychology and sociology are sciences, Nicole chuckled to herself.
Physics was science.
Even when the pop singer sang that the guy she liked was tall and handsome as hell, she’d said he wastallfirst.
And Kingston was tall. Six-five, he’d said. A mountain of a man.
And Nicole was definitely up for some mountain climbing.
But that wasn’tlove.
The few times Nicole had caught feelings for a guy had been weeks or months into dating him. A lot of guys hadn’t made it that far. They were nice enough, fun to hang out with or sleep with, but they hadn’t lasted.
This thing with Kingston was new and exciting. It wasn’t love.
Nicole slipped on her yoga pants and hurried back to the kitchen to meet Kingston, dressed in gray sweatpants and a blue tee shirt, sipping coffee while he was talking on the phone.
He covered his cell phone with his hand and turned to her. “It’s a friend of mine, Morrissey Sand. He’s a lawyer, so he can’t say anything short. Grab a cup of coffee. We’ll order room service for breakfast, but this might take a few minutes.”
Nicole found sturdy ceramic mugs in an upper cabinet and poured herself a cup of coffee while Kingston talked on the phone.
Saying that he “talked” was an overstatement. His answers to his Morrissey friend were monosyllabic, some more grunts than language. Some of the few more elaborate sentences he said were:
“Yeah, okay.”
“I didn’t know. How could anyone know?”
“There’s no way those numbers make sense. I went through the spreadsheets with Jericho.”Pause.“Yeah, the guy could be sued for hiding it during the deal, but it’s too damn late now.”
“Yeah, it’s dire. What did you expect me to say?”
“Yeah, I know you can’t say more, but I get it, dammit. How’s your wager going?”
She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he knew she was sitting right there on the bar stool, spooning too much sugar into her coffee. She wasn’t lurking. He could’ve told her to wait in the bedroom or gone in there himself and shut the door.
When Kingston hung up and strolled over to where Nicole was ruminating over what she was overhearing and sipping coffee, his mouth was set in a firm line.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
Kingston sighed and scratched the back of his head, one eye squinting. “It’s fine. Nothing that can’t be worked around.”
