The Lost Night by Andrea Bartz

Author:Andrea Bartz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Published: 2019-02-25T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

“So did you guys have sex on the dock?” Damien called as soon as I got back to my office, loud enough for others to hear.

“Damien!” I beckoned him in and closed the door. “I found out he’s twenty-four years old. And he brought me my own slice of pizza. I feel like the prettiest girl in all of high school.”

He laughed, his eyes glittering. “You said you were chubby in high school, right? Chubby High School Lindsay would be cheering this hot bitch on.” He leaned against the door. “Chubby Lindsay would have eaten a whole pie.”

“All right, all right.” I spun slowly in my chair. “I can’t even believe I went out with someone so young.”

“It was just pizza. Does he know your age?”

“No, and now that I haven’t mentioned it yet, I feel like it’s this dirty secret.” I laughed. “Do I have my graduation year on LinkedIn? He must never know.”

“He’s probably into the fact that you’re older and wiser.” Damien considered. “But he clearly isn’t just in it for the sex, because you hung out midday. This is fascinating. Maybe the youngs have, like, circled back to playing the long game.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

“How did you meet this kid?”

“I just stopped into…my doctor switched floors and I accidentally wound up at the wrong suite number,” I said evenly. Was I getting good at this? “I asked for directions and we ended up chatting for a minute. So wild.”

He nodded approvingly. “Okay, so what would Fat High School Lindsay say?”

“Hey, wasn’t I Chubby Lindsay a minute ago?”

“Adorable either way. Oh, speaking of being fat kids together, are we getting dinner before the show tonight?”

“The show?”

“Alvin Ailey. Don’t tell me it’s not on your calendar.”

Oh, Christ. “I didn’t forget! Just…I mean I did right now, but I’m in. It’s at Lincoln Center, right?” Damien loves modern dance and always gets us pairs of plush seats at the major companies’ shows, Cedar Lake, Martha Graham, Paul Taylor. (Except for that brief period in 2016 after Damien dated a Paul Taylor dancer, then broke up with him on the basis of bad conversation and disappointingly uncalisthenic sex; Paul Taylor had been unmentionable for two whole seasons.) We get dressed up—nothing annoys Damien like attendees in jeans and sneakers—and sit together, enthralled, watching athletes spin their art.

“Yep, Lincoln Center.” Damien headed for the door. “I’ll get us dinner reservations in the neighborhood. I can tell you forgot, Linds. Put on some lipstick.”

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