Read Online The Eggnog Chronicles by Carly Alexander - Free Book Online Page B

watching all the crime shows on television. She waved to every passing patrol car and smiled at uniformed officers hanging out on street corners. She started telling me about Jonathan’s exciting days and nights, his “jobs,” the chatter of the dispatcher that she heard through his cell phone, his “gun runs” and “ten-thirteens.” In Emma’s eyes, Jonathan lived on the edge of danger (though I suspected he inflated his superhero stories when trying to impress chicks). Somehow, by having sex with him she felt connected to that exciting underworld, not to mention that seducing an officer fulfilled some weird sense of civic duty.
    Bottom line: Emma was smitten.
    Personally, I thought Jonathan was a big blowhard, but since she was the one who fell against the barricade and into his arms, my opinion didn’t matter much.
    â€œI know you don’t see the allure, and I’m sure you could do a rip-roaring critique of him,” Emma had told me when she and Jonathan first started sleeping together, “but thanks. Thanks for . . . for not doing that.”
    And so I’d bitten back my sardonic commentary on this show-stealing, blue-eyed hunk who was far too gorgeous to be soiling his hands dragging perps to jail. It didn’t take long to realize that Jonathan was acutely aware of his own buff beauty; he possessed a portfolio of head shots which he’d been shopping around to modeling agencies, and had appeared as an extra on a few of the daytime dramas shot in New York. In the past few months I had begun to see him as an actor who had opted out of waiting tables to bring home a heftier check from the NYPD. I had also noticed that Jonathan liked the ladies—the big dawg!—and I was about to confront Emma about it when their breakup spared me the agony.
    Macy returned to our end of the bar and dumped empty glasses into a bin. “Who died?” she asked casually.
    â€œIt’s the ghost of boyfriends past,” I said. “Emma’s ex wants her back.”
    â€œSure he does. They all do, once they have to spend a night or two alone.” Macy wiped the bar, her silver rings shining against her chocolate-brown skin. “Men are all horndogs at heart. Once they miss the sugar, they suddenly have big ol’ broken hearts.”
    â€œHe sounded sincere.” Emma twirled an orange curl around one finger, looking so wistful I could cry. “He wants to get together and talk.”
    â€œAnd you’re going to meet him? Why torture yourself, Em? You don’t miss him—you said so yourself,” I said.
    â€œI don’t miss him,” she admitted. “What I miss is being part of a couple. It’s sad to think of spending Christmas alone.”
    â€œYou’re going to be with Ricki and me,” I said, “and don’t drift into that Christmas romance shit. Men are horndogs year-round; they don’t suddenly earn halos when December comes along.”
    â€œMy brain knows you’re right, but my heart is telling me to pick up my cell and call him.”
    â€œI won’t let you do that!” I snatched her purse from the bar shelf and hugged it to my chest. “Nobody make any fast moves here, until we figure this out.”
    Emma’s face puckered in a worried expression. “Remind me why I can’t call him. I need an itemized list of reasons.”
    â€œTypical banker,” I said, shaking my head. “Do you want me to be honest?”
    â€œBrutally.”
    â€œNumber one, you could never rely on him when you were living together. There were nights when he didn’t come home, didn’t call—”
    â€œOut with the guys,” she recalled.
    â€œWhatever. You couldn’t count on him.”
    Emma nodded. “Point taken.”
    â€œItem two: Jonathan was a scene stealer. Remember the last party we went to at the Met? He always had a tale that was more grandiose than the next