back, but stopped herself just in time.
After he poured them fresh drinks, he wiped his hands on his towel, then slung it over his shoulder. "Ten-fifty," he said, apparently not charging them for the first round. That was another thing about bartenders in Boston: They picked their moments to turn on the charm.
Corryn reached for her wallet, but Billy stopped her. "It's my treat this time, and don't argue," Billy said firmly. Corryn had been trying to shield her from poverty ever since she lost her job at Net Circle, even though she kept telling her that she still had semi-decent savings.
The bartender disappeared with the money, and Corryn thanked Billy and asked, "By the way, do you think you'll see Seth again?"
"Maybe. At the jubilee on Saturday. But maybe not. I don't know. I'm casual either way." Instantly she knew that sounded silly, but oh, well; it was only her sister. "Oh, and you're gonna watch Pike for me then, right?" With Lady McAvit still in a snit, Billy didn't want her baby getting into any trouble, but she'd feel too guilty to seal him up in the apartment all day and into the night.
"Sure, absolutely," Corryn said.
Smiling, Billy thanked her, then excused herself to go to the bathroom. She wove through a maze of pool tables and girls in black pants and tank tops, until she noticed something that made her stop short. Som eone, actually. A woman who looked like Melissa on the other side of the room. The Rack was a spacious place, though, so it was hard to get a good look. Tall, skinny, dressed in black, with thick, curly hair pulled back into a ponytail.
When she turned more to the side, Billy got a better look at her profile. It was Melissa, and she was talking to a man whose face was in the shadows.
Suddenly she glanced over her shoulder and made direct eye contact with Billy. Immediately Billy smiled and waved, but, even though their eyes were locked, Melissa didn't wave back. Pausing momentarily, she then turned back around.
Huh?
Is it Melissa or isn't it?
"You're blocking my shot," someone behind her barked, and Billy turned. She was right next to a pool table, and the guy holding the cue was glaring at her. He was some college punk kid with a baseball hat and a Northeastern sweatshirt, who blew his so-called shot as soon as she unblocked it. Continuing on to the ladies' room, Billy turned once to get another look at the girl who resembled Melissa.
Only now the girl was gone.
* * *
The following morning Corryn shoved her way onto the smelly, jam-packed E line. She wasn't trying to be a snob, but really, was this train ever not wall-to-wall crowded with people breathing and coughing on each other?
She'd trekked out to Jamaica Plain to show a one-bedroom off Huntington, and her appointment had never shown. So annoying. Realtors in Boston might have a reputation for being dismissive and short-tempered, but was it any wonder sometimes?
Now Corryn tried not to breathe—a strategy that obviously didn't last long. As it was, the little pocket of air she had smelled vaguely of sweat and stale bagels. And dirty socks. Christ, did someone have their shoes off, too? Wasn't there some kind of a law?
Frustrated and suffocated, she pushed through a mass of congestion, chanting, "Excuse me," as she went, and finally made it to a tiny clearing in the back.
After ten long minutes, the T was rattling underground. Then it jerked hard to a stop. The impact sent Corryn's head shooting up, and she suddenly found herself staring into a pair of vividly green eyes. Defogging her brain, she processed the whole image and realized that the green eyes belonged to the tall, broad-framed guy standing next to her.
When he smiled down at her, Corryn realized she was staring, so she quickly dropped her head and looked, instead, at the filthy, stinky floor. Much better. Really, who needed to make long, lingering eye contact with a guy on the T? He was probably a psycho, anyway.
"Crowded enough for you?" he said.
Her eyes
After he poured them fresh drinks, he wiped his hands on his towel, then slung it over his shoulder. "Ten-fifty," he said, apparently not charging them for the first round. That was another thing about bartenders in Boston: They picked their moments to turn on the charm.
Corryn reached for her wallet, but Billy stopped her. "It's my treat this time, and don't argue," Billy said firmly. Corryn had been trying to shield her from poverty ever since she lost her job at Net Circle, even though she kept telling her that she still had semi-decent savings.
The bartender disappeared with the money, and Corryn thanked Billy and asked, "By the way, do you think you'll see Seth again?"
"Maybe. At the jubilee on Saturday. But maybe not. I don't know. I'm casual either way." Instantly she knew that sounded silly, but oh, well; it was only her sister. "Oh, and you're gonna watch Pike for me then, right?" With Lady McAvit still in a snit, Billy didn't want her baby getting into any trouble, but she'd feel too guilty to seal him up in the apartment all day and into the night.
"Sure, absolutely," Corryn said.
Smiling, Billy thanked her, then excused herself to go to the bathroom. She wove through a maze of pool tables and girls in black pants and tank tops, until she noticed something that made her stop short. Som eone, actually. A woman who looked like Melissa on the other side of the room. The Rack was a spacious place, though, so it was hard to get a good look. Tall, skinny, dressed in black, with thick, curly hair pulled back into a ponytail.
When she turned more to the side, Billy got a better look at her profile. It was Melissa, and she was talking to a man whose face was in the shadows.
Suddenly she glanced over her shoulder and made direct eye contact with Billy. Immediately Billy smiled and waved, but, even though their eyes were locked, Melissa didn't wave back. Pausing momentarily, she then turned back around.
Huh?
Is it Melissa or isn't it?
"You're blocking my shot," someone behind her barked, and Billy turned. She was right next to a pool table, and the guy holding the cue was glaring at her. He was some college punk kid with a baseball hat and a Northeastern sweatshirt, who blew his so-called shot as soon as she unblocked it. Continuing on to the ladies' room, Billy turned once to get another look at the girl who resembled Melissa.
Only now the girl was gone.
* * *
The following morning Corryn shoved her way onto the smelly, jam-packed E line. She wasn't trying to be a snob, but really, was this train ever not wall-to-wall crowded with people breathing and coughing on each other?
She'd trekked out to Jamaica Plain to show a one-bedroom off Huntington, and her appointment had never shown. So annoying. Realtors in Boston might have a reputation for being dismissive and short-tempered, but was it any wonder sometimes?
Now Corryn tried not to breathe—a strategy that obviously didn't last long. As it was, the little pocket of air she had smelled vaguely of sweat and stale bagels. And dirty socks. Christ, did someone have their shoes off, too? Wasn't there some kind of a law?
Frustrated and suffocated, she pushed through a mass of congestion, chanting, "Excuse me," as she went, and finally made it to a tiny clearing in the back.
After ten long minutes, the T was rattling underground. Then it jerked hard to a stop. The impact sent Corryn's head shooting up, and she suddenly found herself staring into a pair of vividly green eyes. Defogging her brain, she processed the whole image and realized that the green eyes belonged to the tall, broad-framed guy standing next to her.
When he smiled down at her, Corryn realized she was staring, so she quickly dropped her head and looked, instead, at the filthy, stinky floor. Much better. Really, who needed to make long, lingering eye contact with a guy on the T? He was probably a psycho, anyway.
"Crowded enough for you?" he said.
Her eyes
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