Chapter Thirty-SevenWhile Rey chatted with Terry Moola over white wine, Linda and I lingered at the crowded bar, sipping club sodas. The plan was to get the numbers and amscray. The conversation across the venue, however, seemed to be transpiring pleasantly, so we waited for the exchange to play itself out.
“She's smiling and laughing.” Linda frowned into her glass. “She must like him.”
“She's acting.”
“That's not B-actress Rey; that's I'm-kinda-interested-in-this-hunky-dude Rey.”
I elbowed her lightly. “Evidently, he's as nice as he's good-looking.”
“If you're into the rugged, mountain-man look.”
Moola stood a burly 6'2” and did indeed remind you of someone into hiking and hunting, and gracing the cover of Backpacker magazine. A short, boxed beard complemented a handsome, unblemishe
