her friends, however. Not yet. She pulled out her Android. Toronto was in the same time zone, and it was only 7:00 p.m. Tracy Jackson might have time to talk.
“Hello?”
“Tracy, this is Natalie Geller from Trading Cards.”
“Oh, hi. How’s it going?”
Natalie cupped her free ear to block out the laughter and chatter in the room. “Great. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“You’re not, but I’m waiting for a car that’s going to be here any minute. Did you pick one of my guys?”
“Max Zimm.”
“Oh, he’s wonderful. Exactly as advertised, I’m not kidding. Really. You’ll love him. Oops, my ride’s here. Sorry.”
“No problem. Go.”
“Can you call again on Saturday? I’ll be done with all this by then.”
“Of course. Thank you.” Natalie turned off the phone and looked at Max’s face. His dark hair was a little on the messy side, but in that windblown, artfully tousled way that made her want to run her fingers through it. His lips hinted at a warm smile, and she had to admit, thick eyebrows completely worked on him.
What made her swallow hard, though, were his eyes. They were a fascinating mix of green close to the pupil and blue on the outer edges. Sectoral heterochromia. She’d never met a person with that genetic anomaly, but she’d grown up with a cat that had one brown eye and one green. She found it hard to look at the other parts of his face when those eyes were so unusually captivating. What must he look like in person?
Instead of reading his answers one more time, she kept on staring at his eyes, wondering what color he’d listed on his driver’s license. He’d be like a chameleon, depending on what he was wearing.
At the thought of actually phoning him, anxiety shot through all her high hopes. Calling a man for a date was difficult enough, but picturing Max Zimm on the other end of the line made her want to hyperventilate. The men in her life had never been known for their eyes, or any other body part. Oliver was only memorable for not being memorable at all. He really should have been a spy or a thief, because he was so ordinary no one would think twice about him. He’d have gotten away with murder. But the only crime she knew he was capable of was leaving his thumb on the scale when he weighed corned beef for his customers.
Despite her nerves, Natalie would call Max. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. She would call because of her nerves. So there.
2
ALTHOUGH HE HADN’T made it out the day before, by afternoon he hadn’t been able to stand the confinement for one more minute. Max hurried out of his corner bodega, a man on a mission. He would drop off the groceries at his place and then catch a cab to the Upper East Side. He wanted Thai and he wanted it in a restaurant, and he wanted to get there by cab.
Four days of doing squat also turned out to be just enough time to drive home the fact that he hadn’t had sex in months. A new and very uncomfortable record.
A survey of his contacts had showed him how tragically out of the loop he was. He’d started with Bev, his most reliable friend with benefits. She’d informed him that she was engaged and pointed out that if he’d ever once called her back or checked her Facebook or in any way remembered she was alive, he’d have known that.
The phone calls had gone downhill from there.
It disappointed him in a way that was new. He’d lost friends before. No one got to thirty and didn’t, but he’d never let relationships die without meaning to. Some of these people he’d known since college. It was naive of him to think he could pick up right where he’d left off.
A cab pulled over and Max got in and gave the driver the address. After they merged into traffic, his cell phone rang, raising his hopes that one of his ex-friends had forgiven him. Then he saw the unfamiliar name on his caller ID. “Hello?”
“Max?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Natalie. From the trading-card group.”
Jesus. How had he forgotten the trading-card thing? His cousin Paula had pitched him the idea over a month ago, and he hadn’t wasted a second signing on the dotted line. Thank God. “Right. Okay, hi, Natalie.”
“You do know what I’m talking about, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good.” She sounded nervous. “Because I picked your card.”
“I’m flattered you chose me.”
“Well, who wouldn’t?”
Max laughed. “Lots of people.”
“I can’t imagine...” She cleared her throat. “I don’t have much time because I’m in between appointments, but I thought I’d call you now because...well, because if I waited any longer I’d probably chicken out.”
“You’re doing great so far.” Interesting that she’d told the truth. Equally interesting was the smile that had been on his face from the moment she introduced herself. Although that could be a result of having spent over an hour hearing that he was a persona non grata.
“A woman my age shouldn’t have this much trouble asking for a date, though I’m new at this trading-card thing,” she said, “but, anyway, I was thinking about dinner.”
“Tonight?”
“No. Tomorrow night. If you want. Because tonight I have a class thing.”
“Ah. Okay, tomorrow night would be great.”
“Oh,” she said, as if she’d expected him to object. “Where would you like to go?”
“Tell you what. You choose and I’ll meet you there. Wherever you’d like, anywhere in the city.”
“Seriously?” Her voice rose half an octave.
“Yes.”
“What if I said Masa?”
He laughed. “That might be a problem.” Max let that hang for a second before adding, “Getting a reservation there on a Friday night is difficult.”
She chuckled, low and slightly breathy. “You’re quick,” she said. “I like it.”
“I’m definitely intrigued. I’m also tempted to ask you some questions, but I think I’d rather wait until dinner. Keep the mystery going a little longer.”
“Oh, good. No pressure at all.”
“I hope not. It seems like an excellent way to meet. My expectation is to have a nice meal with pleasant conversation. If anything more happens, that’s a bonus.”
“I can work with that,” she said. “How about seven o’clock at Lviv? That’s in the Bowery, if that’s all right?”
