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“Hey, Jessica. I just got through with boxing class. You free to talk?”
She glances at the time on the kitchen wall clock. Ten fifteen.
“Sure,” she says, moving to her office chair and popping her feet up on her desk. “How’d it go?”
“Going,” says Malcolm, with barely repressed excitement. “It’s still going. I’m at their place.”
“What!” Jessica pulls her feet down and sits upright in her chair.
“For real! I’m in their bathroom, right now. Look!” He pans his screen around a full marble bathroom with double walk-in showers and two washbasins with fat golden faucets.
“Oh my God. How come?”
“I charmed my way in!”
Jessica shakes her head slightly. “In what way?”
“In the way of being charming. And telling a lot of lies.”
“Who do they think you are, Malcolm?”
“Well…they kind of think that I know Akinesiz personally. They also think I have family in the UK. Oh, and that my dad’s a top sports agent and I live on Park Avenue.”
“Seriously?” Jessica replies. “They believed all of that?”
“Yeah, they totally did. And now we’re going to do some gaming.”
“Just the three of you?”
“No, there’s this other guy. He’s named Jefferson. And Mrs. Randall is ordering us in some sushi. But listen. I gotta go now or they’re gonna think I’ve got like IBS or something. Although, yeah, actually, that could be a good detail for Sly. IBS. Yeah. I like that. I’ll message you when I’m home. Later!”
The screen of her phone empties and Jessica blinks slowly at it for a moment before putting it down. She feels slightly stunned and doesn’t know what to do with herself. Her eyes go again to the five inches of whiskey on her filing cabinet. With that inside her she could drift slowly and softly from here to a deep numb sleep. Without it she is slightly lost. She wishes she was gaming with Malcolm at Amber Randall’s apartment. She wishes she was in a bar somewhere. She wishes she had somewhere to be and someone to be with. Ten thirty on a Friday night never felt so lonely.
She picks up her phone again and scrolls through her recent contacts. Luke’s number sits near the top and she stares at it, hard, as if the power of her own emotions might spontaneously trigger a call to him. And then she presses the message button and types fast, before her nerve deserts her: Hey. I’m sober and bored. Can I come over?
She sees Luke typing immediately, and her heart races.
I’m here and waiting.
TEN
THE SENSATION OF waking the next morning in Luke’s bed with a clear head and an unsullied memory of the night before is novel. She turns toward Luke and props her head on her hand. He’s lying on his back, looking at his phone, and his face opens up at the sight of her. He puts the phone down and turns so that he is facing her fully.
“Good morning, Jessica Jones.”
“Good morning, Luke Cage.”
“So this is what you look like in the mornings when you don’t have a stinking hangover.”
“Yeah. Pretty, huh?” She pulls a cheesy smile.
“Yeah,” says Luke, moving his face closer to hers. “So pretty.”
She pushes his face away from hers playfully. “What are you doing today?”
“Oh, you know, putting up shelves.”
“Putting up shelves? Seriously?”
