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Authors: Allison Leotta
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crowd,” Nick said, refilling her wineglass. “Now that we’re alone, I think you should stick to wine.”
She laughed. Nick told her the most scandalous courthouse gossip—he’d collected some great stories in his two years in Superior Court—letting her into a world she’d only glimpsed from the sidelines. He said there were rumors that Judge Spiegel and Officer Green were having an affair. They had worked on a case together a few years ago, before Spiegel was elevated to the bench, and were thought to be romantically involved then. Although Green had dated several women after that, he and the judge had remained close friends, maybe more. As Nick mimicked pillow talk between the judge and the cop, Anna couldn’t stop laughing.
When they were done with dinner, Nick offered to walk her home. Her cheeks flushed with wine and laughter, she happily accepted. Anna tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and they laughingly stumbled toward her place. It was a warm summer night, and the streets of Adams-Morgan were even busier than usual. She felt some pride as people watched her walk by on the arm of the ridiculously good-looking attorney.
En route to her house, they approached a fancy new steel and glass condo building in the hottest location in the neighborhood, set a few meters back from the bars and restaurants of 18th Street. The ten-story structure loomed over the older brick town houses. Anna had heard that each unit cost over a million dollars. She wondered aloud who lived there.
“Actually”—Nick looked a little embarrassed—“I do.” He paused, considering whether to ask his next question. Finally, he turned to her and smiled. “Would you like the grand tour?”
Anna understood that this wasn’t an invitation to see how his kitchen was tiled. She gazed at Nick’s face, the absurdly long eyelashesframing his hazel eyes, the chiseled cheekbones setting off his perfect smile. With his long, loping stride and mischievous grin, he looked like a cross between a young John Cusack and Jimmy Stewart. She loved Jimmy Stewart.
Her mind was fuzzy from the wine. But one thought stood out clearly and cleanly.
She wanted him.
She had for a long time. Although her sober self would have raised rows of mental hurdles—she shouldn’t date a defense attorney, she didn’t know him well enough to be alone with him, she should take this slow—the wine submerged these objections, leaving only her desire to answer the question of whether she wanted the “grand tour.” The answer was simple.
She nodded.
Nick held the lobby door open for her, and Anna tried not to be overwhelmed by the space as she walked in. The lobby conveyed both Zen-like tranquility and pricey industrial chic. The floor and walls were black granite; the ceilings soared. An abstract steel sculpture towered in the middle. A wall of windows at the back framed a Japanese garden, where hidden lights illuminated a waterfall and koi pond. The male receptionist, dressed entirely in black, looked too much like a Calvin Klein model to possibly be straight.
The reception desk, opaque glass balanced on stacked rocks, held a bank of televisions, computers, and switches that suggested the building was equipped to make a landing on Mars. As they passed the desk, Anna caught a glimpse of herself and Nick walking by on one of the TV screens in the desk. His hand rested lightly, possessively on her lower back. They looked like a real couple.
“Heeey, Nick,” the receptionist trilled, the singsong in his tone communicating that he found Nick’s late-night company very interesting.
“Hey, Tyler.” Nick ushered Anna into the brushed-steel elevator. He hit the “PH” button. “He’s a nice guy,” Nick whispered to Anna as the doors shut. “But he’s not on the tour.”
Inside, Nick’s condo was like something from a modern architecture magazine, with gleaming wood floors, a two-story ceiling, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the shining
She laughed. Nick told her the most scandalous courthouse gossip—he’d collected some great stories in his two years in Superior Court—letting her into a world she’d only glimpsed from the sidelines. He said there were rumors that Judge Spiegel and Officer Green were having an affair. They had worked on a case together a few years ago, before Spiegel was elevated to the bench, and were thought to be romantically involved then. Although Green had dated several women after that, he and the judge had remained close friends, maybe more. As Nick mimicked pillow talk between the judge and the cop, Anna couldn’t stop laughing.
When they were done with dinner, Nick offered to walk her home. Her cheeks flushed with wine and laughter, she happily accepted. Anna tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and they laughingly stumbled toward her place. It was a warm summer night, and the streets of Adams-Morgan were even busier than usual. She felt some pride as people watched her walk by on the arm of the ridiculously good-looking attorney.
En route to her house, they approached a fancy new steel and glass condo building in the hottest location in the neighborhood, set a few meters back from the bars and restaurants of 18th Street. The ten-story structure loomed over the older brick town houses. Anna had heard that each unit cost over a million dollars. She wondered aloud who lived there.
“Actually”—Nick looked a little embarrassed—“I do.” He paused, considering whether to ask his next question. Finally, he turned to her and smiled. “Would you like the grand tour?”
Anna understood that this wasn’t an invitation to see how his kitchen was tiled. She gazed at Nick’s face, the absurdly long eyelashesframing his hazel eyes, the chiseled cheekbones setting off his perfect smile. With his long, loping stride and mischievous grin, he looked like a cross between a young John Cusack and Jimmy Stewart. She loved Jimmy Stewart.
Her mind was fuzzy from the wine. But one thought stood out clearly and cleanly.
She wanted him.
She had for a long time. Although her sober self would have raised rows of mental hurdles—she shouldn’t date a defense attorney, she didn’t know him well enough to be alone with him, she should take this slow—the wine submerged these objections, leaving only her desire to answer the question of whether she wanted the “grand tour.” The answer was simple.
She nodded.
Nick held the lobby door open for her, and Anna tried not to be overwhelmed by the space as she walked in. The lobby conveyed both Zen-like tranquility and pricey industrial chic. The floor and walls were black granite; the ceilings soared. An abstract steel sculpture towered in the middle. A wall of windows at the back framed a Japanese garden, where hidden lights illuminated a waterfall and koi pond. The male receptionist, dressed entirely in black, looked too much like a Calvin Klein model to possibly be straight.
The reception desk, opaque glass balanced on stacked rocks, held a bank of televisions, computers, and switches that suggested the building was equipped to make a landing on Mars. As they passed the desk, Anna caught a glimpse of herself and Nick walking by on one of the TV screens in the desk. His hand rested lightly, possessively on her lower back. They looked like a real couple.
“Heeey, Nick,” the receptionist trilled, the singsong in his tone communicating that he found Nick’s late-night company very interesting.
“Hey, Tyler.” Nick ushered Anna into the brushed-steel elevator. He hit the “PH” button. “He’s a nice guy,” Nick whispered to Anna as the doors shut. “But he’s not on the tour.”
Inside, Nick’s condo was like something from a modern architecture magazine, with gleaming wood floors, a two-story ceiling, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the shining
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