105
JUST LIKE YOU AND ME
Lewis left me at my front door with a kiss on the cheek and a smile. As nice guys go, he’s one of the better ones. That’s why I hated myself a little for stepping inside, not even taking off my jacket, and calling Am-ina Orban.
“You busy?”
“Only if talking to you constitutes busy,” she said. Her voice was like a song in my ear, her smile an invitation. I could almost smell her perfume—I could, too, if I owned a fancier phone.
“It’s jazz night at Ciardelli’s,” I said. “Let’s have a few drinks and watch the night pass.”
Her smile widened. “Best offer I’ve had in days. See you there in ten.”
I needed the drink, and her warm, en-thusiastic company, which would likely con-tinue back at my place until morning. But there was a thought, a question, that made me wish
