Hidden Gems. Carrie Alexander

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      MARISSA YAWNED and leaned her head on Jamie’s shoulder. “How come we’ve never had sex?” she said with a throaty giggle, snuggling up to him in their favorite carved wooden booth at Havana Eva de Cuba, where he’d been plying her with carbohydrates instead of alcohol.

      Jamie dragged in a deep breath before draping an arm around her. He was too nice for his own good. Definitely too nice.

      “I mean, it would be so easy,” she continued, her voice muffled by his chest. He had to lean his head closer to hear her over the din of the busy and colorful restaurant, a frequent hangout only two blocks from their apartment building. Marissa liked the place for the ethnic menu and decor that reminded her of home, not that she’d ever admit to such sentimental longings.

      As for Jamie, he’d go anywhere she did.

      “I know you wouldn’t hurt me when we broke up,” she finished. “And then we could still stay friends.”

      Since she’d spent the past ninety minutes telling him and her girlfriends that she wasn’t hurt by Paul’s betrayal, the first part of the statement was more revealing than she intended.

      He touched his nose and lips to her hair, hurting for her more than she’d ever hurt for herself. Marissa pained him, she frustrated him, she exhilarated him. He’d wanted her from the day they met, but now wasn’t the time to take her question seriously. “Why would you want to start something with the intention of breaking up?”

      “Not an intention. A given.” She tilted her face up, lightly knocking her forehead against his chin. Her lids were weighted and she had the dopey, slightly boozy grin that meant she was about fifteen minutes from crashing. “I’m a realist. There’s always a breakup.”

      “Only because you choose the wrong men.”

      She sighed and snuggled back in. He felt a shiver pass through her slender body. “We’ve already established that there’s something off about my taste in men. And since I agree that I’ve got to stop doing this to myself, next time I need to find a nice guy. Like you.” After a moment—Jamie was sure only he felt the strain of it—she chuckled. “But of course not you.”

      Of course not. He looked at the tin ceiling. At least she still remembered there was a possibility of their having got together at some point. Perhaps he hadn’t wandered so deep into the “just friends” zone that there was no coming back.

      Three years he’d known her. Three years waiting for the right time to tell her that he thought there could be more than friendship between them. First, there’d been other people in their lives. Then, for a long time, he’d

      convinced himself that she was hopelessly out of his league—a savvy, single-minded attorney who worked and played among the upper strata wouldn’t be interested in an easygoing arts writer who counted his dog among his best friends. So he’d kept his interest buried beneath layers of playing the good guy and best friend. Told himself he was better off that way, since Marissa lost her good sense when it came to her love life. He didn’t want to be one of her regrets. To say nothing of losing her as a friend.

      Cassandra Richards returned from the ladies’ room to lean over the table. She was part of Marissa’s circle of friends, a stunning blonde who worked in fashion, in some sort of public relations capacity. The type of woman who, with one flick of her lashes, could make Jamie feel like a teenager again—all ears, nose, big feet and gangly limbs. He frequently found himself wondering how a brainy boy from the Connecticut suburbs had wound up associating with such Manhattan beauties. If his teenage garage band could see him now…

      “How’s our girl?” Cass asked. She had dropped by to lend her support, even though Marissa had been adamant about how very okay she was without Paul… while downing mojitos, one right after the other, before the food had arrived.

      Eyes shut, Marissa aimed a sleepy smile at her friend. “Drifting.”

      Cass sent her wry look Jamie’s way. “Finally.”

      Marissa’s index finger twitched. “You go home. I’ve kept you too long.”

      “I’ll hold your hair anytime, Mari.”

      Marissa grinned at the girlfriend shorthand for their mutual support system. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “No literal pilgrimages to the porcelain goddess tonight, please.”

      Jamie rubbed her back, hoping for the same. He’d hold back her hair, but not if that made him one of the girls.

      “Time to take her home,” he said to Cassandra, who’d arrived in a slouchy sweater with her whisper-fine hair tucked haphazardly in a clip. She still managed to look like a princess among the paupers.

      “Need any help?”

      “Thanks, I’ve got her.”

      Cass snapped open her bag and dropped several bills on the table to pay for a share of the drinks, sandwiches and très leches. She’d matured from the last time Jamie had seen her. According to Marissa, Cass had fallen under the good influence of a cop from Queens. That sounded like a strange pairing to Jamie, but he’d taken it as a sign of hope for himself.

      “Great,” Cass said, “because I’ve got work in the morning, unlike Happy Holidays here. I need to get home.”

      “Hold on.” Jamie made a motion to slide out of the booth. Marissa tried to straighten up, not very successfully. “I’ll walk you to the train.”

      “Nonsense. It’s not that far to Tribeca. I’ll grab a cab.” Cass leaned down and pecked Marissa’s flushed cheek. “Call you tomorrow.”

      “Mmm-hmm.”

      “Take care.” Cass gave Jamie an appreciative smile. The luggage they’d stored under the table caught her eye СКАЧАТЬ