I’m tempted to ask him what I said. But that would embarrass both of us.
“If Darryl Friese was walking north up to the school, and Noah was shooting from the east, how did he hit Darryl on the left side of the face?”
Matty tosses his shoulders. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care, either. He finishes with the towel and gives me a sideways glance. “I’ve seen this guy Noah on TV,” he says. “Handsome dude. Should I be jealous?”
“Matty—”
“Who’s better-looking, him or me?” he asks.
“Are you kidding me?”
He points at me. “That’s a nonanswer. You think that guy’s got something on me? He doesn’t make seven figures, does he? C’mon, Murphy, give it up,” he says, grabbing my ankle. “You like that guy more than me?”
I move my leg, forcing his hand off my ankle. I get off the bed and walk out of the room. He follows me down the hallway.
“What? I was listening. But Murphy, what’s your deal? That thing was a lifetime ago. I mean, I know you miss your uncle, and I’m sorry and all that—”
“That’s very sweet of you,” I deadpan.
“—but seriously, you gotta snap out of this. You’re turning into a real drag.”
I stop and spin on him. “Am I?”
“Yeah, you wanna know the truth. You are.”
I take a step toward him. “This is the guy who killed my uncle. I’m trying to understand him.”
“Why? You trying to get closure or something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Well, can you get ‘closure’ when we don’t have reservations at Quist in … now it’s twenty-four minutes,” he says, checking his watch.
“I can still get ready,” I say.
“Yeah, you’ll wash your hair and tie it into a ponytail and throw on something too casual for where we’re going. God forbid you try to look hot when I’m in town. God forbid you put on some makeup and spend more than two minutes on your hair. You’re this … you’re the hottest woman I know, but it’s like you don’t give a shit about that.”
I narrow my eyes to get a better look at this man named Matt Queenan. “I don’t give a shit about that,” I say. “Did you just figure that out?”
“Y’know, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, princess.” He wags a finger at me. “A lot of women would want to look hot for me. You think I don’t get overtures all the time? Every day? You think there aren’t a dozen women who’d jump at the chance to date me?”
“Oh, I’m sure there are hundreds,” I say, not hiding my sarcasm. “You’re the great Matty Queenan! You make seven figures a year! Why don’t you go find one of those women tonight?”
I return to the bedroom. As I pass him, he grabs my arm. “You know what, I think I will,” he says through his teeth.
I yank my arm free and give him a forearm shiver to the chest. “Don’t grab my arm.”
“Don’t fucking push me,” he says, knocking me back into the wall.
My Irish up now, I lean in and punch him right in the kisser, connecting with his teeth and feeling his jaw crunch. “Is that better?”
He stumbles backward, unprepared, touching his mouth and then checking his fingers, finding blood. “You fucking bitch. Nobody hits me.”
I shrug. “Hit the road, Matty,” I say. “Or I’ll hit you again, a lot harder.”
“Yeah?”
He moves at me, but I feint toward him and he backs off. He’s a lightweight. He knows I could take him. He couldn’t handle the embarrassment.
“Have a nice life in this shithole town with your shithole job,” he says, turning to leave. “I’ll have another date by the time I get back to Manhattan.”
40
AFTER MATTY DRIVES away, I throw on a baseball cap and head to my car. I don’t feel like being around here, smelling his lingering cologne, thinking of him. My nerves are still rattled, but I know, in my heart, that I wasn’t going anywhere with him. It was going to happen sooner or later.