28The Chinese food she’d ordered for delivery at eight p.m. showed up at seven thirty. Harry answered the doorbell dressed in his wallet, minus the three twenties he held in his spare hand. The young Chinese-American college boy left with a twenty-dollar tip and a great story about crazy naked white guys.
Twenty-five minutes later, seven half-empty cardboard takeout containers littered the pool lounge coffee table. “I wasn’t sure what you liked,” Kate said as Harry guided a huge prawn dipped in black bean sauce into her mouth with his chopsticks. “And where did a banker like you learn how to use those?”
“Eating out in all-night Chinese joints in London and New York with Chinese grad students after eating out the Chinese grad students.”
Kate made a face.
“And I wasn’t a banker, babygirl
