There’s a good fucking chance that she’s involved with someone, but the need to know more about her has brought me back to this part of Manhattan.
I convinced myself this time that a short chat with her couldn’t hurt.
I did that during a meeting earlier, when I should have been focused on the author sitting across from me.
Instead, I was tracing the curve of Astrid’s hip in my memory.
This is unfamiliar territory for me.
I don’t pine for anyone. Infatuation isn’t something I’ve felt in years, but there’s something about the blonde with the guitar and angelic voice that has brought me back into her orbit.
I stop just short of the door of her record store to glance down at the suit I’m wearing.
Charcoal gray with a striped blue and white button-down shirt and no tie.
I catch my reflection in the glass door to find hair in need of a cut and a layer of stubble covering my jaw.
I glance beyond that to movement in the store.
It’s her.
She’s dressed in a pair of faded, ripped jeans and a black T-shirt that is snug enough to outline the swell of her tits.
This is the point where I should open the app on my phone that has served me well in the years since my wife died.
It’s afforded me a few encounters with women looking for sex.
First names only.
No strings are ever attached since I make it very clear that dinner and a one-time-only fuck in a hotel room is all I’m interested in.
“You heading in, dude?”
I don’t need to turn to know that the voice behind me is directed at me.
I glance over my shoulder to see a guy who can’t be more than college-aged with a cigarette in his hand. He takes a final puff before he drops it to the sidewalk and snuffs it out with the toe of his weathered brown boot.
“The owner has something for me,” he says with a smile. “It’s an album I’ve been on the hunt for.”
Who am I to stand between him and his music?
I grab the door to yank it open. “After you.”
“Thanks, man.” He pats my shoulder on his way into Vinyl Crush.
I trail behind, hoping like hell he’ll grab what he needs and get out of the store so I can spend a few moments alone with Miss Rehn.
I feel some twisted satisfaction when the expression on Astrid’s face shifts suddenly when she catches sight of me behind the guy wearing the flannel shirt and army green camouflage sweatpants.
Her right hand raises in the air, so the guy I’m trailing waves back.
I acknowledge her with a nod since I’m confident the movement of her hand was directed at me since her gaze is locked on my face.
Why do I feel like I’m in a silent battle for her attention with a guy who looks like he just rolled out of bed?
He makes a beeline for the checkout counter to scoop up an album sitting atop it.
“Oh, man, that is the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”
His words, not mine.
Although if I were to utter them right now, they’d be directed at Astrid since her lips are covered in what looks like some type of pale pink gloss.
That would look like sin if it circled the crown of my cock.
I look down at the checkered tiles on the floor because I’m a decent man who can control his indecent thoughts, including those related to Astrid on her knees in front of me wearing nothing but that lip gloss.
“Hey, Berk.”
Astrid’s soft voice lures my gaze back up. I find her standing less than five feet in front of me with her hands on her hips.
“Hey.” I smile. “I’ll browse for now.”
She nods her acknowledgment.
I walk to the right toward a wooden stand containing hundreds of albums as I listen to her interaction with the guy in the flannel shirt.
“I owe you big time for this,” he says in an almost giddy tone. “You should let me buy you a drink as a thank you.”
I’m tempted to glance over my shoulder to gauge her reaction, but I keep my gaze trained on the cover of the album that’s now in my hand. If she’s in a relationship, I assume she’s going to drop that tidbit on this guy.
“That’s not necessary, Castle.”
Castle? The name does not fit its owner in any way, shape, or form.
“I want to,” he whines. “I’m single. You’re still single, right?”
For some goddamn reason I can’t understand, I wait with bated breath for her to answer Castle.
“I am, but…” Her voice trails.
“So, let’s do it.” A note of desperation taints his tone. “I’ll wait until you close up. There’s a bar down the street. We’ll grab a beer and talk music.”
As enchanting as that invitation sounds, I want her to say no.
I have no right to want this virtual stranger to say anything, but if she’s in the mood to go for a drink with a man, I want it to be me.