The Ex by Freida McFadden(33)

I can’t suppress a smile. “What if I throw it away at home?”

“Well, that’s okay. Because it’ll be in your trash, and when you get the desperate urge to call me at two in the morning, it’ll still be retrievable.”

I finger the card. The first thing I notice is his last name. Pourakis. He’s Greek, like I thought. And then I see the MD after his name.

“You’re a doctor,” I note.

He nods. “Joel and I were premed together in college. I just relocated here from Chicago. That’s why I don’t know what to pay for a hot dog. And I can’t even imagine what other ways street vendors are taking advantage of me without a beautiful native New Yorker by my side to save me.”

I turn the card around and see the number scribbled on the back. I contemplate the digits. “So,” I say, “is that last number a five or a six?”

His face lights up. “A six.”

“Good to know,” I say. I stand up from the steps. “Nice running into you again, Dr. Pourakis.”

He stands up too. He does a little bow with just his head. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Loren.”

I put the card in the pocket of my coat. Dean Pourakis is a good guy—even though he deceived me, I can tell that much. If I called him, he really might help me to forget Joel. But as I’m walking away, I know I won’t call him.





Chapter 19: The New Girl


Three days after the word “SLUT” is painted over, Cassie passes Francesca’s restaurant on her way back from work. She pretends she’s taking the scenic route, but the fact that she has to take a different subway line and walk two miles to get back to her building belies the lie she’s told to herself. She’s here to catch a glimpse of Francesca.

Angela’s Ristorante is a tiny, hole-in-the-wall sort of place. In a way, it reminds Cassie of Bookland, the way it’s shoved between two larger stores. The awning juts out a couple of feet, colored green, white, and red to celebrate the Italian flag. There’s a space outside which could accommodate a few tables in warmer weather, but now is bare.

Cassie comes as close as she dares, peering through the glass windows. It’s as small as it looks on the outside—cozy and romantic and dark. There are plants on the windowsill, and the greenery nearly obscures her view of what’s inside. She squints, trying to make out a beautiful woman with long, dark hair.

Of course, if Francesca were to materialize, what would Cassie do? Would she march up to her and demand she stop writing slurs on her door? Would she coolly inform Miss Francesca that Joel is her boyfriend now, and she needs to move on?

It’s a moot point though. If Francesca is here, she’s out of sight. Probably in the kitchen.

Cassie gives the restaurant (or ristorante) one last look, then turns on her heel and walks away. She shouldn’t have come in the first place—it was silly. She’s embarrassed, but the “SLUT” on her door had shaken her. Then again, she doesn’t know it was Francesca. Cassie knows all too well there are other people who have good reason to lash out at her.

But as Cassie turns the corner of the block, she nearly collides into someone unexpected. Someone she never thought she’d run into here.

It’s Joel.

“Hi!” She feels suddenly breathless. “I… I didn’t…”

He’s blinking his blue eyes at her, as if he thinks she could be a mirage. “Cassie?”

She swallows. She doesn’t want him to know what she’s doing here. He can’t know she came here to spy on his ex-girlfriend. That’s not sane behavior. “Hi,” she finally says. “I was just… shopping.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Shopping?”

He knows. Does he know? This certainly isn’t a shopping district. But it’s not out of the question. There are shops everywhere in the city—surely there are some here. “There’s this great shoe store…”

Please don’t ask what the name of the store is.

“Oh.” His face relaxes. “Okay.”

She spends about five seconds being relieved, but then the thought occurs to her: what is he doing here? He doesn’t work anywhere near here. He doesn’t live anywhere near here. Yes, it’s suspicious she’s here. But it’s equally suspicious that he’s here.

Is it possible he’s come here to see Francesca? And if so, why?

Or maybe she doesn’t want to know the answer to that question.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks as casually as possible.

His eyes widen. He rubs at his chin. “Also… shopping.”

“Oh,” she says.

Holy crap, he’s lying. He knows better than anyone where Francesca’s restaurant is, and it’s clear he’s come here to see her. But she can’t accuse him. Because if she did, he’d discover she knows where the restaurant is. And her cover would be blown as well. All she can do is try to stop it from happening.

“Do you want to grab some dinner?” she asks him.

Out of nowhere, a really sad look comes over his face. He lowers his eyes. “Okay.”

“Do you…” She clears her throat. “Do you know of any good restaurants around here?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “No,” he says. “I don’t.”