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eyes could not possibly have gotten any bigger. Then he dropped the suspicious front, rubbing his hands together and asking in a conspiratorial whisper, “Did he flirt back? Is he nice? Ooh, tell me, tell me!”
    I couldn’t help giggling. “Quinn, you are such a dork.”
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Details, woman!”
    “There isn’t really much to tell,” I said. “You saw most of what happened.”
    “Mm-hmm. Go on.”
    “Go on? I don’t know what you want to hear. Well, I mean…” I gave a noncommittal shrug and pretended to be interested in something on my fingernail. “We are getting coffee tonight, but that—”
    “You have a date?” He clapped both hands over his mouth and glanced back at the door. Cheeks reddening, he lowered his hands and whispered, “Seriously?”
    “Oh, come on. It’s just coffee.”
    “But it’s with—” He jumped like someone had shocked him. Then he put his hand on top of my head. “You’re shorter than me again. That means…” Slowly and more than a little dramatically, he let his gaze drift downward. “The shoes. The shoes are off , madam.” He took his hand off my head and pointed sharply at my feet. “There is no way you got those off by yourself while you’re still wearing that torture device you call a dress.”
    And there was no way my face wasn’t glowing bright red at that moment.
    “Okay, okay.” I sighed. “Look, my ankle hurt. He gave me this stuff.” I held up the jar. “And in this dress, I couldn’t reach my feet if they were on fire, so he helped me with my shoes and…” My eyes darted toward the jar. Then to Quinn. “Okay, I swear, it doesn’t sound nearly as—”
    “Buck Harder took off your shoes and rubbed cream all over your feet.”
    “Foot.”
    “So is he going to do the other one after coffee tonight?”
    I smacked his arm and rolled my eyes. “Very funny.”
    “What?” He showed his palms. “Seems like a legitimate question.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    The corner of Quinn’s moth rose a little. “So what’s he like?”
    I shrugged. “He’s nice.”
    “Nice?” Quinn huffed. “Could you be a little more vague?”
    “What do you want to know?”
    “Well, is he nice in the sense that he doesn’t push old ladies down escalators? Or are you already mentally waiting in line at the DMV to change your name to Rachel Harder?”
    I burst out laughing. “Okay, as far as I can tell, he doesn’t push old ladies down escalators.”
    “ That’s a relief,” he said with mock seriousness.
    “And… I don’t know. He’s just nice. To be honest, I kept forgetting I was talking to a porn star.”
    “That’s because he had his pants on, sweetheart.”
    “Quinn!”
    “I’m just saying.” He put his hands on my shoulders and gently turned me around.
    “It’s not a date,” I insisted as I pulled my ponytail up to keep it out of his way.
    Quinn tugged at the zipper on my dress. “Whatever, love. Let’s just get you out of this thing and off to your appointment.” Under his breath, he added, “And your date.”
    “It’s not a date!”
    “If you say so, darling.”
    “It’s just coffee.” My lungs finally expanded with a proper deep breath. My God, it felt good to breathe without restriction. Looking over my shoulder, I said, “I do say so.”
    “And I don’t believe you.”
    I wasn’t sure if I did either.

Chapter Four
    Lee
    At a little past eight, I walked into the coffee shop. It was one of those hole-in-the-wall places that the college kids and insomniac screenwriters frequented, sucking down coffee while they pounded on laptops and talked about how badly this or that politician was fucking up the universe. The kind of place with a microphone standing in the middle of a stage that was—thank God—currently deserted. Poetry slams were terrible mood killers on first dates.
    First dates? Dude. It’s not a fucking—
    Oh, Jesus. There she is.
    Rachel was dressed down now. Sitting at a table beside the window,