Haze, Andrea Wolfe [english novels for beginners txt] 📗

"Well, I did like the actual writing," I said, thinking back to how great it felt to put pen to paper and wind up with strange ideas sometimes. "Did you like your writing process?"

"Of course," he said. "I love my craft. It doesn't mean I like the final result years later, however. And you should write more if you like writing. You're probably really good, especially with how funny you are."

His overly optimistic praise of my ability made me rise to his defense, dodging the compliment. "Your albums are probably great. And they actually affected people. No one ever read what I wrote. It's not a fair comparison."

Jack straightened both his silverware and his posture. "We'll listen sometime, I promise. A listening party, I guess."

"Will there be booze?"

"Of course!" Jack lightly stroked my hand that was sitting on the table. Honestly, I hadn't even realized it was there. His smooth touch felt good, so real. "And you will write more." I nodded to acknowledge him.

Although we were lightly dancing around that dark secret of his, I didn't sense any misery or regret like I had last time.

Circumstances were different. No one had just knocked me onto the floor in a coffee shop.

Chicken tikka masala interrupted our remaining snippets of conversation. "This is way too good," I said after my first bite. We had both gotten the same thing since Jack swore by it. And I was thrilled when he ordered for me. It felt so chivalrous.

She will also have the Chicken tikka masala.

It was so simple, but I couldn't deny how good it made me feel. No one had ever ordered for me before. I blushed a little after he did it.

Jack laughed at me as I struggled with the spiciness. I had gotten mine medium, while he had requested spicy.

"It's more than I'm used to," I said in my defense.

"A little heat never hurt anyone. Good for your immune system."

"So is sex," I said matter-of-factly. "I just read an article the other day."

"Well, cold season is coming up here, so we'd probably better act preemptively."

Dammit. I wished he could take me right then and there, right on that table after we shoved all the platters and everything on the floor like they did in the movies, our raw urges dictating such destruction and chaos. No one would stop us either.

It was just a fantasy.

Right about the time we finished stuffing our faces—we ate a lot, especially given the hummus snack we had on the plane—Jack's phone buzzed. "All right, we need to get going, little lady. We've got a special meeting tonight."

"Is this the surprise?" I asked. "The meeting?"

"Yep. We're going out for drinks." He said it so confidently, his features stone-cold and serious. The way he said it made me giggle.

"The surprise is a bar? Wow, Jack, you just keep blowing my mind!" My sarcasm was borderline cruel.

He flagged down the waiter and got the check, giving up his credit card without even seeing the bill. "There's more to it." He nibbled his own lip slowly, something I had noticed him doing from time to time. It was quite cute, actually.

The bill paid—and the waiter tipped handsomely, of course—we made our way back to the freshly-arrived limo and headed to a place called Bar 1200, part of yet another extravagant hotel on Sunset Boulevard. I didn't know what to expect, other than a surprise, whatever that meant.

When we got inside, it was busy, but not so busy that you couldn't hear anything. Jack punched another text into his phone and then ordered us a couple of Irish coffees to make up for our missed opportunity at the Indian restaurant.

We stood by the bar for a couple of minutes, and I just watched the crowd as if it were the rumbling cars in the subway. Everything was moving so fast, people coming and going and having a great time along the way. It was hypnotic. They were much happier here than in the subway, that was for sure.

"Let's go," Jack said as he smoothly wrapped his arm around my back and coaxed me in his desired direction.

I carefully walked with him toward a quieter corner of the bar, one with a couple of empty tables that had apparently been ignored by the numerous patrons. There was a woman sitting at one of the tables by herself, clad in sunglasses and a hoodie. We sat down at the table next to her.

"Okay, Effie, are you ready?" Jack asked.

I looked all around the restaurant, searching for whatever was about to surprise me; I could find nothing out of the ordinary. Was something about to mysteriously drop from the ceiling? I looked up, but couldn't find any incriminating evidence there either.

"I guess," I said. "Am I going to have a heart attack? I have insurance. Should I get out my insurance card?"

"Maybe." He turned toward the woman at the empty table, her expression distant and apathetic from what I could see behind the sunglasses. She started to look familiar the second I actually looked at her. "Ma'am?" he asked. "It's kind of dark in here, why are you wearing those?"

She pulled off the glasses, and my jaw-dropped—it was none other than Stacy Levons. The combination of her ponytail and large glasses totally threw me off since I was used to seeing her made up in red carpet photos and movies. In my defense, the bar wasn't that bright either. Even without all of the make-up, she looked beyond gorgeous.

They stood up together and shared a brief hug before Jack turned and introduced us. "Stacy, this is Effie. Effie, this is Stacy."

Dammit, Jack, I thought. Of course I already know who she is!

"Effie, it's cool to meet you." I took her hand and shook it, over-thinking the gesture and worrying that I had shaken her hand either too firmly or not firmly enough. They had talked about handshakes so much in my high school career courses that I had grown deathly afraid