“Yeah.” I’m not really liking where this is going, but I can’t lie to her ‘cause with any luck, she’ll be joining me in the bedroom of that Upper East Side condo real soon.
“Your name is Carlton Caldwell, you live on the Upper East Side in a condo, and you wear Polo shirts,” she ticks off on her fingers. “Ever heard the saying, ‘Three strikes, you’re out?’ I’m pretty damn sure you’re no outlaw.”
“But are you sure?” I ask her, taunting her. “You won’t know for sure unless you have dinner with me. Just think, your chance to go on a date with your very own real-life Diesel. Three days from now. I’ve got some shit I have to take care of, and then I’ll be back in town. Will you be here?”
We’ve circled back around and are in front of the courthouse again. Hesitating for a moment, Lisa finally nods. I pull out a business card that simply has an embossed phone number on it. “Text your address to this phone number,” I say. “I’ll pick you up at 8:00.”
My driver, Antoine, opens the door to the Rolls Royce at the curb and I slide in, rolling down the window as I close the door. She leans on the windowsill. “No outlaw has a business card,” she points out. “Or a Rolls. Or a driver.”
Antoine starts the car and it purrs as he waits for me. “Actually, I’m pretty sure all outlaws have drivers,” I point out. “After all, who’s going to drive the getaway car?”
And I left her standing there on the curb, staring after me, mouth hanging open, and fuck, I love getting the last word in. With Lisa, I have the distinct feeling I shouldn’t expect to always be able to, but I’m going to enjoy every time I manage it.
“To the clubhouse,” I tell my driver and then settle back into my seat. I have some shit I need to clear off the table.
71
Lisa
I wipe the sweat off my brow. God, that was an amazing workout. How is it that the CrossFit people always know which buttons to push, to make me just absolutely sweat my ass off? Becca and Ashley come up beside me and we walk out the front doors and into the fading evening light.
“So,” Becca asks as we stand on the curb, waiting for our Uber to show up, “have you heard from Mr. Sexy Outlaw lately?”
“No. We’re supposed to go on that date on Wednesday night, but I haven’t heard anything from him since yesterday.”
Not, of course that I have been checking my phone obsessively all day long to see if he’d called or texted me. I’m not desperate.
I have, however, checked occasionally…as long as the definition of “occasionally” is every five minutes. That, I’ve done.
I pull out my phone and check again. Nothing.
“He said he was going out of town for three days, so that’s probably why,” I say confidently.
“And wherever he’s going, they don’t have cell service?” Ashley asks with a cocked eyebrow.
I ignore that question. It was the same one that had been haunting me all day and quite frankly, I didn’t like the implications, so straight into the ignore category it went.
“God, the Uber is taking forever to get here,” Becca complains, looking up and down the busy street as if that’d magically summon the vehicle to us. She always was impatient.
Unlike you? a voice inside my head asks.
I ignore that question too.
“Have you Facebook stalked him?” Ashley asks, apparently also onboard with the Ignore Becca’s Impatience plan.
“No,” I say wonderingly, “I haven’t. Let’s do that right now!” I dig back into my purse, my heart racing with excitement again. I cannot believe I didn’t think to do that before now. Leave it to Ashley to think of these sorts of things.
“Okay,” I say, hitting the search button to bring up the search screen, “let’s see what Facebook has to say on the topic.”
I type in Carlton Caldwell and even, I’ll admit, Diesel Caldwell. Do outlaws have last names?
But, nothing.
How is that even possible?? Who doesn’t have a Facebook page? I scrunch up my nose, suddenly unsure about Diesel the Outlaw. What the fuck could we have in common if he didn’t even bother to have a Facebook page? I bet he doesn’t even have an Instagram account. I pull up the Instagram app and check.
Nope.
Wow. It’s like he’s from the 1980s or something.