Killer Summer by Lynda Curnyn (e book reading free .txt) 📗

And a better question was, why the hell was Vince meeting her at her hotel?

Chapter Twenty-nine

Zoe

Dating is murder. On the nerves, if nothing else.

As I stood before my closet, trying to decide between two equally unappealing shirts to wear to dinner tonight, I realized I was still just as clueless about dating as I’d ever been.

And when Jeff called me to confirm our plans for tonight, I discovered he was just as clueless about “da city,” as he and his Long Island henchmen referred to Manhattan. On top of my current wardrobe dilemma, I even had to pick out the restaurant we were going to tonight. The whole thing was becoming pretty stressful.

It wasn’t that I had never dated before. I just never went on dates. With Myles, it seemed we went right from our mythical meeting at a peace rally in Union Square to renting videos and eating takeout together at his place or mine. And before Myles, I always seemed to date someone from whatever film I was working on, but those were more like friendly drinks-after-work-turned-romantic sort of outings.

This, however, was starting to feel like an honest-to-God date.

And I knew I should probably try and think of it as a date, despite my attempts to see these plans as simply part of my big plan to get more info on Maggie’s death. Though the idea of being with anyone other than Myles still pained me, I knew I had to move on. Myles clearly had.

I almost called Sage, then remembered that she was none too pleased with me these days. I guess I couldn’t blame her. It had been a bit insensitive of me to raise the specter of Maggie during Sage’s big celebration. I guess I just had Maggie on the brain. And sitting at that dinner table, with everyone who knew and allegedly loved her, watching Tom chow down his meal like he didn’t have a care in the world, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Of course, it wasn’t. Which was why I had gone out and bought Sage a coffee mug that said “The Boss” in big gold letters. I wanted her to know I was happy for her, because I was happy for her. Just a little more unhappy for Maggie.

Sighing, I finally pulled a yellow tank top out of the closet and yanked it over my head. It was one of the few shirts I owned that didn’t have some incendiary message on it. Besides, Myles always said I looked good in yellow.

Of course, I wasn’t going out with Myles.

Now, as I stood before the full-length mirror on the back of my closet door, I realized I looked decent enough, if not desirable.

At the sound of my door buzzer, I took a deep breath. “Ready or not.”

The first thing I noticed when I caught sight of Jeff’s tall, lean form through the glass of my front door was that even when dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, he still looked like a cop. Maybe it was the fresh-from-the-dry-cleaners look of his crisp button-down, or maybe it was the way he stood, broad shoulders thrown back, head erect, eyes alert.

“Hi,” I said, stepping through the door.

“Hi,” he replied, beaming a smile at me that went right to his pretty blue eyes.

I looked up at his square jaw, the dimple in his chin. I had forgotten how cute he was. My palms began to sweat.

“So where are we off to?” he said.

“Nice little restaurant,” I replied, trying to surreptitiously wipe my palms on my jeans. I gave up, waving him along rather than taking his hand. “C’mon. It’s just a few blocks west of here.”

I had decided on Westville, a local haunt Sage and I had gone to once, mostly because it was in the neighborhood and because they served enough variety to accommodate vegetarians and carnivores alike. I was pretty sure Jeff fell into the latter category. Most men did. Besides, the restaurant was kinda sweet. Casual, intimate without being over-the-top romantic or anything.

Now, as we walked down the tree-lined streets in silence, I found myself glancing at Jeff as he looked with interest at the storefronts and pretty little brownstones we passed. Even felt his discomfort when we came across two men holding hands. “Bet you don’t see that on Long Island every day,” I said, hoping to dispel the tension he clearly felt. Or maybe I was trying to keep him from making some homophobic comment. I had dated guys from the burbs before. I knew homophobia sometimes ran rampant in towns where everyone looked and acted the same.

“Yeah, well, to each his own,” he said, chuckling nervously.

Whew. One disaster averted. Next obstacle to tackle: conversation. While I had plenty on my mind to talk about, I didn’t want Jeff to think I was only after one thing. So to speak.

“How was your meeting with your friend?” I asked.

“Oh, it was fine,” he replied. “Actually, he just got a place in the city and he needed a hand hanging up some shelving.”

“That was nice of you,” I said. Mental note:Jeff knows how to hang shelves. This could come in handy in a boyfriend. Not that I was looking for a boyfriend, I reminded myself. Well, not really.

“Yeah, he’s an old friend. We went to high school together, you know?”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling. I remembered now what it was that I loved about Long Islanders. That strong sense of community. And though sometimes that meant difficulty letting outsiders in, once you were in, you were a lifer. If you needed a favor—an old fridge moved out to the garbage for special pickup or some shelves hung—there was always some friend a phone call away to lend a hand. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed that.

Maybe because I thought I had it with Sage and Nick. But I guess I let those ties languish when I was