“What would you like to know?”
“Everything, international woman of mystery. Where do you work?”
Nikki considered the omissions she’d already made. They’d twisted her personal story too far; she could never bend it back to properly fit the truth. She borrowed from her own past instead, as if she were meeting Teddy years ago, in those days when the rage would slip out of her, uncontrolled and feral, when she would find a way to piss off the biggest guy in the club, daring him to take a swing at her; when she would choose her partner for the evening because she liked the vodka he drank, or his form during deadlifts, or the way he maneuvered his motorcycle. She tasted some of that recklessness now.
“Nightclub,” she said. “Incendio.”
“Wow,” he said. “Are you a dancer? I mean, you look wicked fit.”
“Bouncer.”
He laughed. “Really? I believe it. You’ve got a magnificent tough-girl vibe. I love your muscles and tattoos. I’ll be sure to conduct a full topological survey later.”
He lifted her hand and kissed the tattoo on the inside of her wrist: a spiraling knotted pattern she’d once found on a grave.
He waved the waiter over and ordered seconds.
They talked about her work at Incendio, and as the minutes and hours slipped by, she told him a bit about Enzo—although not the specifics of how it had ended between them.
“He’s an idiot,” murmured Teddy. “I can’t believe anyone would give you up.”
Then he told her about his relationship with an actress that had just run its course.
“Can I be honest with you, Nikki?” he said during their next round of drinks. “I respect the work you do—but do you want to do it for the rest of your life? You’re fucking smart. You shouldn’t be working for anyone; people should be working for you. I see you more as a club owner.”
Nikki tried to consider, but her thoughts were blurred. She’d had too much to drink.
“I’d like to kiss you,” he murmured, leaning in.
Nikki let him, tasting cigarettes and rum. His lips were soft, teeth slick, tongue gently probing. She relaxed into the electric warmth and pleasure, reminded of the last time she’d been kissed—a green silk dress and the cooling island air of Capri, and a boat returned to the mainland without her.
But Teddy’s mouth was not Enzo’s mouth.
His hands roved upwards with practiced skill, and he pulled her firmly into him, ran fingertips through her hair, caressed her back and hips until something ignited inside and she stopped thinking about Enzo.
He was smiling when he pulled back.
Nikki caught her breath and shook her head. She was enjoying this—the way he touched and looked at her. She wanted him, wanted him to take her home and fuck her. But this was a bad idea. All of it was a bad idea.
“I should get back.”
He leaned in, took her earlobe gently between his teeth. His hand was on her thigh, stroking, working upwards. He kissed her again.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered.
—
Teddy paid. Nikki stopped by the toilet on her way out. She rinsed her mouth and splashed her face with cold water. The mirror reflected herfatigue, but it also showed cheeks flushed with the alcohol and the heat of Teddy’s attentions…and the lie.
Her deception had been like an armor. It made her feel invincible. Reckless, she’d leaned out over the edge, some part of her brain working to justify what she was doing—a vague sense that her lies and drinking and flirtation were in service to the investigation. But that wasn’t remotely true. This was about something else entirely—an old familiar screaming pain that seemed to claw its way out of her chest whenever she stood still enough to feel it. She wanted it silenced, wanted to drown it in these moments of a numbly detached pleasure—the wordless physical act, the sense of connection and movement and momentary release.
“Fuck,” she said aloud to her reflection.
She’d traveled down this familiar path as if it could take her anywhere besides misery. Until this moment, she’d deluded herself.
If this was for the investigation, then she was far over any ethical line.
“Fuck.”
