Free Perfect on Paper by Maria Murnane Page A

Waverly.”
    I shook my head. “You’re really sweet, but I don’t think so.”
    “You honestly think that baseball is more important to your dad than his own daughter?”
    I nodded. “Sometimes.”
    “Are you serious?”
    I smiled weakly. “Okay, I’m only half serious, but I’ve noticed that I’m not always sure which half. And now that I’ve officially rained all over this parade, I’m changing the subject back to you. Where do your parents live?”
    He put his hands up. “Okay, I’ll back off with the amateur psychoanalysis. My parents are still in Miami, in the same house where I grew up. I have an older brother who lives a few miles away from them and an older sister who lives in Boston with her husband and kids.”
    “That’s nice,” I said, wondering how I could change the subject even further away from family and families. I glanced over at two security guards by the fire exit and then looked back at Jake. “Hey, have you ever noticed how almost all cops have mustaches?” I said.
    He smiled. “What?”
    “Security guards, too. What’s that all about?”
    He shook his head. “I never really thought about it.”
    I shrugged. “It’s just something I’ve noticed. It’s quite fascinating when you start to pay attention. I wonder what the percentage is compared to the general population.”
    “You spend a lot of time noticing things, don’t you?” he said.
    I shrugged again. “A little. Oh, crap.”
    “What?”
    “I’m sorry. I just remembered that I forgot to set my DVR to record American Idol this week.”
    He laughed. “ American Idol ? Seriously?”
    “Oh, yes,” I said, nodding. “It’s my favorite show.”
    “Your favorite show? For real?”
    “Yep. I even went to the concert last year.”
    He smiled. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
    Had I really just told him that I went to the American Idol concert on the heels of talking about my mother’s cancer and my screwed-up childhood? Was I insane? I was so flustered that I honestly had no idea what I was saying anymore. And the alcohol wasn’t helping. My head was all foggy, and I’d already forgotten half of what I had said just five minutes earlier. Sweaty Chuck was a distant memory.
    I pushed my hair behind my ear and told myself to get it together.
    “So, um, you said not being able to choose where you live is one of the few things you don’t like about working in the NBA. What are the other things?” I said.
    “If I tell you, you’ll laugh.”
    “Try me.”
    He cleared his throat. “Well, sometimes it’s hard to—”
    “Jake McIntyre! I thought you might be here. How are you, darling?”
    We both turned around as a supertall, stick-thin brunette with matching stick-straight hair and bangs nearly jumped into Jake’s lap, or what would have been his lap if he had been sitting down.
    Jake blushed, and my wobbling self-confidence took a nose dive.
    “Hi, Carolyn, how are you?” he said.
    “I’m just wonderful, darling. Busy with the new Prada line, but doing great. We’re off to New York on Monday to start the winter season.”
    She looked at me with a frosty smile. “Hi, I’m Carolyn Weller.”
    “Waverly Bryson,” I said quietly, suddenly feeling like a sixth grader in a high school locker room. How could something that skinny have such huge breasts?
    She turned her attention back to Jake and put her arm around his waist. She whispered something into his ear, and he laughed. I took that as my cue to make a gracious exit. I softly said Nice meeting you both , but neither of them seemed to hear me, so I backed away and headed through the crowd to the bar.
    Then I ordered another drink and decided that getting trashed wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

    “Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. Fifty. Fifty. Fifty.” I was sitting on a bar stool at a high round table in the corner of the room, counting out loud the white roses in the vase to my right. “Fifty roses. That’s five dozen roses. No,