Page 14 of The Love Interest

Shit.

What kind of lawyer admits to feeling confused and conflicted?

I guess it wouldn’t hurt to walk and talk with a sad-eyed handsome stranger who has excellent taste in pens and notebooks at 4:30 in the morning in Manhattan.

I slide my phone out of my jeans pocket and tell him I’m going to take a picture of him to send to my roommate. He doesn’t smile for the camera or even look at the camera. He continues walking and staring at the sidewalk five feet ahead of him. But he also doesn’t turn his head away, so I get a decent shot when we pass by a streetlamp.

I send the photo to Jed, who is probably either fellating or being fellated or possibly sleeping right now.

“What’s your name?”

“Emmett,” he mutters.

“What’s your last name, Emmett?”

He watches me when he tells me, “Ford. I’m Emmett Ford.”

I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond to that, other than: “Thank you.”

ME: This gentleman has offered to walk me home from the diner. If I don’t show up, tell the police to look for Emmett Ford.

To my surprise, Jed replies:I CAN HAS?

ME: Not gay.

JED: MOUNT HIM IMMEDIATELY.

JED: ALSO, ASK HIM WHO HIS BARBER IS.

JED: THIS IS MY NEW WALLPAPER.

JED: WHAT COLOR ARE HIS EYES?

ME: STOP YELLING AT ME! I’m coming home to pick up the cock and then leaving.

JED: BRING HIM TO ME.

ME: NO.

JED: Fine.

ME: Is your date still there?

JED: Yes. But he just wants to be friends, so I hate him and I can’t get him to leave. Bring me eye candy. BRING HIM TO MEEEEEEE!!! Or bring him up and bone him here. These are your options. Emmett Ford is a hot name btw. HAWT.

He’s not wrong. Emmett Ford, if that’s really what his name is, is hawt. And maybe what I’m actually feeling right now is inspired.

6

EMMETT

All righty then.

No sign of name recognition at all. Other than the confusion, there’s very little indication of any kind of attraction to me, well—besides the outrageously erect nipples beneath the thin layers of blouse and bra. But the air-conditioning was on full blast, so who knows if that had anything to do with me.

It usually does. Erect nipples usually have everything to do with me if I’m in the room—that’s not arrogance, that’s a fact. Something I reluctantly came to terms with when I was a teenager. Something I’d grown tired of by the time I was in college. That was what drew me to Sophie—she saw beyond my looks. She was curious about me as a person, but she never let me get away with being charming.

I fell back into old habits when it became necessary to charm women again—a means to an end. Never the beginning of anything. Halfhearted as my attempts have been in the past decade, I was always successful.