I shrug.
“But I knowyoudon’t seem to think it’s great. You said on the phone something about the protagonist. And I genuinely want to help. So, explain to me, now that I’ve read it, what the problem is.” He carefully unbuttons each of his shirt cuffs and slowly, methodically rolls up his sleeves, putting his distractingly muscular forearms on display.
“I don’t like Presley,” I say, gulping.
“Well, sure. I mean, I don’t like her either. She actually reminds me a little of my ex-wife.”
“Really? Is she a Realtor too?” (Lots of literary agents have a side hustle, so this wouldn’t surprise me.)
“No,” he says. “But I get the sense that she married me for the money. It’s not like I’m loaded either. But I have a solid job and Ihada decent savings account, until I bought her the house that she kept when we split.”
“Hold on. She stilllivesthere?”
He sighs. “Yup.”
“But you’re alawyer! How could you—”
“I—” He shakes his head. “Let’s focus on this, first,” he says, tapping the folder. “I’m sure we’ll get to all of my relationship mishaps at some point.”
I don’t want to push or make him uncomfortable, so I let it go. “Okay,” I say. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says, stirring the ginger ale with his straw. “So, you and Presley—interesting name choice, by the way—how come you’re not jiving?”
I blush. “Well, I just feel like none of it’s believable,” I say. “I mean, I’m sure therearegirls out there who would sleep with someone to sell a condo. I just don’t know anyone like that. And I feel like Connor is stupid.”
“Hmm,” he says. “That’s interesting. I actually don’t agree. I understand Connor’s motivation.”
“Tocheaton hiswife?”
“No. Don’t misunderstand me. His wife seems like a straight-up she-devil, for sure. But he seems, like, sorry. Sad.” He takes a slice of the warm Italian bread out of the basket between us. “I don’t want to saypathetic, but close. Like Presley was the one that got away, and that’s amplified by the fact that his wife—Melinda, right?—is just awful.”
I nod.
“So, I feel like he’s trying really hard to look like he’s got his shit together, y’know? Like he’s got a solid A-game, when really, he’s completely insecure?”
“I guess.”
“I mean, I don’t think he deserves to bestabbed, but I’m only going by the thirty-five pages I read. I’m sure you know more about these two than I do.”
At this, I nod.
“The thing is, when I read it, I felt like it was, I don’t know.” He pauses. “Recognizable. Relatable.”
“Really? How?”
“He just seems like he’s been through a lot with the wife. At least, that’s how I read it.” Colin licks the tiniest bit of butter off his lips. The sight of it nearly knocks me on the floor.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sure, I suppose. To be honest, I haven’t really thought too much about the backstory around his situation. I mean, I’ve considered it—obviously, they’re not in agoodplace—but I don’t know exactly why that is. I think I kind of thought it washisfault Melinda was so horrible. He’s a playboy, don’t you think?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It looked to me like there was more than just a horny guy there, like, when you scratch the surface.”
“Wait—you meanallguys aren’t just pigs, nothing more than testosterone and sexual demands?” I joke, sort of.
“Yikes,” he says. “Someone’s a little sore.”
I laugh. “Yeah. I guess that’s pretty obvious.” I take a breath. “Scott definitely did a number on me.”
“I can see that,” Colin says. “It’s okay. We’re all just damaged goods, right?” He smiles, but not exuberantly. More like someone accepting a sad truth.
