Her eyes flit back and forth, assessing me. Then she shrugs. “It’s a weird night.”
That’s it.
I dump all that on her, verbal spillage of the worst sort, and she just shrugs and says it’s a weird night. “You’ve changed.” I say it with all the honest admiration I can muster. I like her. I like her bite, her snap, her strength.
She nods. “It’s been a long time.” Another short, spare statement. “Have you changed?”
I exhale roughly. There it is. My opening. “Yeah. A fair bit. I realized I’m an addict.”
She looks immediately to the drinks between us.
I’m used to that. I don’t shirk away from the unspoken question. “Not booze, although I don’t drink a lot. I don’t need another addiction in my life. But I don’t like the stuff enough to use it in that way. No, I’m a gambler. I’ve been in recovery for years.”
Her eyes go wide. “Cards?”
And how. At university, my poker games were legendary. And they came first, before Regan, before sports, before anything I should have valued. “Cards, horses, money. I…” I gesture to my suit. “I don’t actually do any of the investing part of being an investment banker anymore. Crashed and burned hard a couple of years ago. Got my brother in a shitload of trouble. We came out the other side of that bruised but better. Now he manages the investment side of things, and I make house calls on our more eccentric clients who like that I’m a wild boy.”
She laughs gently. “That makes you sound like a gigolo.”
“Not far off,” I say gruffly.
“Is that why you’re going to Ottawa tonight?”
He nods. “We have a client there. I’ll come home tomorrow morning.”
“You’re going up for one night?” Her eyes sparkle. “Are you literally a gigolo? No judgement.”
I smile. “No, but I was going to spend the night with her.” The look on Hazel’s face is incredible. A little twist of jealousy, which I enjoy, but it’s almost all curiosity. “Because she’s a night owl. We usually have a late dinner, and then spend the night pouring over her accounts before having breakfast together. Sometimes we finish late in the night and I grab some sleep, other times it’s an all-nighter until I head back to the train.”
“Long round trip. Why don’t you fly?”
I grimace. “I, uh, can’t.”
Her eyes go wide and her voice softens. “Phobia?”
“Insider trading.”
Her mouth falls open and a small squeak comes out. “Huh.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “It’s not universal. I can get on planes. Just not the ones operated by the two companies I put in financial peril. In hindsight, it was dumb to piss off both domestic airlines like that.” Then I grin, because I know it could be way worse. It had been, for a couple of years. It had been brutal, and a mess entirely of my own making. Now, my life was back on track. “It’s an inconvenience, but I’m in no place to complain. I could be in jail and I’m not.”
“That sounds like quite the story,” she says, her eyes still wide. “I don’t want to pry, though.”
“Pry away. Part of the twelve steps is taking responsibility and coming to terms with what I did.”
“So I’ve heard, but I’ve never seen it represented quite that honestly before.” She pauses as the food cart rattles towards us.
“Festive turkey, salmon, or lasagna, miss?”
“Lasagna for me, please.”
I take the same.
She looks at me curiously as we dig into our food.
“Ask your questions,” I finally say.
“You’re for real.”
“It’s not like you’re a stranger,” I say under my breath. “You knew me at my worst.”
“That was your worst? And you ended up doing…” She licks her lips. “Something that got you banned from airplanes?”
“It was part of the agreement. It’s almost done. I’ll be able to fly to Ottawa next year, although I’m sure I’ll have a hassle the first few times.”
“You seem chill about that.”
I laugh hollowly. “I’ve adjusted to the surreal nature of my predicament. And again, it’s entirely of my own making.”
“You added that caveat again.”
I always do. I take a deep breath. “I ruined my life before it really got started. I don’t want to make that same mistake. In general, I believe in ruthless honesty. It’s humbling.”
“But you didn’t mind when I gave you a different name?”
No, I really hadn’t. I was more curious than anything. “You had your reasons.”
She hesitates.
“Didn’t you?” I arch one eyebrow. I don’t really care. She doesn’t owe me anything.
Slowly, she smiles. “Ruthless honesty?”
“It’s a good policy.”
She licks her lips, the tip of her tongue pink and nimble. “Okay. So, the thing is, Aibhlin…that is my name now. In some ways. I’m a writer. It’s a pen name.”
“What do you write?”
“Words strung together in sentences. Lots of them.”
I suppress a chuckle. “How mysterious.”
“Mmm.”
Her eyes are definitely sparkling now, so I take a gamble. “Were you enjoying our game until I ruined it?”
She purses her lips, then nods. “Yes.”
“Damn. So was I.” I think about her ice demon story. “You’re a wonderfully deft storyteller. I’d love to read something else that you’ve done. Anything.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Do you like dinosaur erotica?”
It’s damn good I didn’t put that bite of lasagna in my mouth before she said that, because it would have launched right back out.
“There’s a first time for everything.” I ignore the rough gravel in my voice suddenly.
“Oh, good.” She blinks innocently.
“Do you—” I reach for my glass, wait a beat, and when she doesn’t help me out, I swill back the last of my rye. “Uh, is that what you write?”
“No.” She winks. “But I really enjoyed that exchange.”
“All right, funny girl.”
“There’s nothing wrong with dinosaur porn, Sam.”
“There’s a difference between porn and erotica, Hazel.”
She freezes. “Yes,” she says slowly. “There is.”
“Are we still joking around?”
“Yes.” But she licks her lips. “No. I write erotica. That part was legit. No dinosaurs yet, or ice demons.”
“That’s a shame.” My pulse jacks up
