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He shook his head and sighed. “He wanted the inventory information for a reason. Isn’t that tomorrow?”
“We start tomorrow with Natural History, but the whole process takes about two weeks. We do it a building or two at a time with a few days in between each.”
“So that one’s not his target if he didn’t give you anything to do. What comes after that?”
“After that we move on to the African American Museum, and the National Gallery of Art on Wednesday.”
We traveled several blocks before he spoke again. “How did your brother take it?”
“You mean me canceling dinner? Or the news that I’m dating you?”
He did a quick double-take look at me before a chuckle overcame him. “Nice try.”
“He suspects I’m hiding something.”
“Maybe you’re not as good a liar as he is.”
My fingers dug into my thigh as I looked out the window and ignored him.
We stopped at a traffic light. “That’s uncalled for, and you know it,” I shot back.
He shrugged. “According to you.”
I folded my arms and watched the people on the sidewalk go by—headed home after work or out to shop and get a bite to eat.
We passed a couple walking hand in hand, about our age. The next couple wasn’t holding hands, but the expression on her face as she talked to him said it all. And the next couple looked the same.
I turned back toward Adam. “Why do you have to be such an ass?”
“Me the ass? You talked to him today. What did he have to say about what happened between us? He’s the grade-A, number-one asshole.”
“We didn’t get into it. I wasn’t supposed to talk about you, remember?”
He kept his eyes forward with a clenched jaw.
I kept after him. “I’m not supposed to even know you, so why don’t you tell me about it?”
For about a block he didn’t say anything. “What would you like for dinner tonight?” He twisted the silver ring he wore—the one with the star on it.
Back to square one it seemed. “I don’t feel like cooking. How about Chinese? There’s a place on P Street, to the left.”
He nodded.
I texted Yolanda. If she was still at work, her boss didn’t like her on the phone.
ME: Picking up Chinese - want some?
Her answer was prompt.
YOLANDA: Nanjing chicken pls
It didn’t take long to reach the restaurant and order more than enough for all of us. Somehow Chinese takeout always created a ton of leftovers.
Adam hadn’t said a word since I’d prodded him about Dennis. He twisted the ring again as we sat in the tiny waiting area’s red plastic chairs.
“If your ring’s too tight, I have a guy who can size it for you.”
He pulled his hand away. “It’s fine.”
