New York Nights. Kathleen O'Reilly

      With Lindy still looking doubtful, Tessa visualized coming into her perfect apartment surrounded by successful, financially independent colleagues who had made their way in life. As opposed to the pitiful imagery of Tessa dropping out of school, shacking up with Gabe for a couple of years. And then he’d decide he needed a new, improved model, probably someone who had a viable career, and then Tessa would be pushing thirty and still trying to support herself on a bartender’s tips. Hudson Towers was looking better and better by the minute.

      “So what’s the new take-charge attitude from?”

      “Taking the hard course, forging ahead with the right decision and following my dreams.”

      “And this decision has to do with what?”

      “The woman that came in here earlier—the one I drenched in vodka? She’s going to help me get into Hudson Towers.”

      “Hudson Towers? All that because you spilled a drink on her? Man, I wish I had your luck. Instead I get stuck with seventeen-year-olds with bad fake IDs who threaten lawsuits and then tell me that the terrorists have won if I report it. Tell me, what does terrorism have to do with underage drinking? I don’t get the connection.”

      Tessa laughed. “What do you want, Lindy?”

      “The perfect full-throated orgasm.”

      “I mean really.”

      Lindy looked askance. “I meant really.”

      “What about Peter?”

      Lindy rolled one shoulder forward. “He’s only in my mind.”

      Tessa, who was on a first name basis with the idea of fantasy lovers, nodded with approval. “Sometimes it’s better when they’re only in your mind.”

      “As opposed to being only in your vagina?”

      Tessa told herself she would not blush, she would not blush, she would not blush.

      She blushed.

      “Want to spill any secrets?” asked Lindy.

      “Nope. Nope, nope, nope.”

      “Glad somebody is getting something around here.” Lindy looked toward the front. “And speak of the devil.”

      “Hey,” answered Gabe, smoothly walking in the door as if he owned the place. Which he did.

      Tessa looked at Lindy wide-eyed, terrified and willing thoughts of Hudson Towers back into her feeble brain. “Don’t you dare.”

      Lindy winked. “Not daring at all.” Then she waved at Gabe as if everything was right with the world. “Hey, boss.”

      Gabe headed downstairs, and Lindy finished polishing the beer taps. A moment later she put her hands on her hips, took a long look around and then sighed happily. “I’m off.”

      “You don’t have to leave on my account,” said Tessa, not sure she wanted to be alone with Gabe. Actually, she desperately wanted to be alone with Gabe, her weakened flesh already crying to be alone with Gabe. And with Lindy gone? She was toast. Weakened-flesh toast.

      “Good night, Tess. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Lindy added, waving and disappearing into the night.

      Leaving Tessa alone. With Gabe.

      Actually, she thought, looking around the empty bar. It wasn’t so bad. With Gabe downstairs, he was out of visual range, out of touching range, out of kissing range and out of tasting range.

      Of course, he took that exact moment to appear. Tessa jumped.

      “How did it go with the apartment today?” he asked, a completely casual, logical conversation starter.

      “I didn’t take it.”

      “Too small?” he asked, acting completely innocent, completely polite and completely casual.

      Tessa stared at him suspiciously. “No, it was huge.”

      “So what was the problem, Tess?” he prodded, not so innocent anymore, not so polite anymore and—aha—not so carefree anymore, either.

      “He has a dog,” she answered truthfully.

      “You don’t like dogs?” he asked.

      “They’re messy and smelly.”

      “Right, I didn’t know you felt that way. I like cats.”

      Tessa nodded, picked up a rag and stared rescrubbing the bar sink. A sink could never get too clean. “Yes, yes, I do. Give me a cat any day. Much more suited to apartment living.”

      “Oh.” He stood there, watching her work. “Tessa?” he started, and she could read the soul-searching curiosity in his eyes.

      “How was poker night?” she asked, abruptly changing the subject because if there was any soul-searching to be done, it wasn’t about to be her soul under the microscope.

      Gabe, never obtuse, took the hint. “Lost a bundle. Was doing good at the start, but then Cain came in for the win and started getting the hot hands.”

      “Sorry.”

      “Was the place busy tonight? The receipts look good.”

      “Drenched a customer in vodka,” Tessa admitted, happy to be talking about work. Talking about work was good.

      Gabe frowned. “He wasn’t getting too friendly, was he?”

      “It was a she. And, no, it was only me being clumsy.”

      “You’re never clumsy.”

      Maybe she wasn’t clumsy with her hands, but sometimes Tessa was clumsy with her life. “There’s a first for everything. Her name was Marisa and she’s a Realtor,” she started, deciding that now was as good a time as any to fulfill her commitment to set up Marisa with Gabe.

      “I bet you two had a lot to talk about. Actually, did you ever think about real estate, Tessa? I think you’d be good at it.”

      She looked at him and was easily diverted from her match-making goal by the much more interesting idea of pursuing a career in real estate. But sales?

      However, Gabe looked serious. As if he wasn’t joking. As if he thought she could do it. “I think I’d be really bad at it.”

      “Is that a joke?” he asked.

      “No. I can’t do sales.”

      “But when you know what you’re doing, it’s not like selling, more like…I don’t know…finding people and matching them to what they want—and that you could do. Definitely.”

      “I don’t know, Gabe,” she started, because she had already decided on a career path and, okay, a D on an accounting test wasn’t the most promising of signs, but if she kept changing her path, who knew where she’d end up? Probably a chain-smoker at forty-seven, still tending bar, with a tattoo on her arm that said Mother to match the D-E-N-N-Y that was still tattooed on her butt.

      “What’s the safest apartment building in the city?” asked Gabe.

      “The Lucerne,” she answered, ripping her mind off the creepy image of a Mother tattoo.

      “I’m looking for a building. Pets, walk-up, in Battery Park, and I don’t want to pay too much. Where should I start?”

      “Liberty Manor,” she said automatically, and Gabe gave her one of those annoying I-told-you-so looks.

      Slowly it dawned on her that, yes, Gabe was correct. “You think I could do it? I wouldn’t, uh, scare people?” she asked, mentally comparing her wine-stained T-shirt to Marisa’s unwrinkled suit.

      “Certainly you could do it. But don’t quit your night job. I’m not ready to lose my best bartender.”