Not Just a Friend Read Free Page A

minutes late, and she was already assuming he was waiting for a shipment of crack because there were no subway delays.
    But if it doesn’t work out, I’ll find you someone else , Kristy said. One of Grant’s friends .
    Now Maya had something to look forward to.
    Not.
    The men Kristy set her up with were invariably nice and boring. Zero chemistry. It seemed Maya was wired to only like men who were bad for her.
    Well, she wasn’t the only woman with that problem.
    It was seven-twenty now. Still no sign of her date. She had another sip of her drink and read the menu again, though she’d already decided on the blackened catfish.
    If she ever got to eat here, that was. But if Tyler didn’t show up by seven-thirty, she might order without him rather than leave. It looked—and smelled—delicious. At least he’d picked a good restaurant, though perhaps she should reserve judgment until she’d tried the food.
    The restaurant might be like the Justin: it looked good on the outside but was actually full of shit.
    “Hello.”
    She startled at the greeting and looked up. It was Tyler.
    “I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” he said. “I had to wait forever for a streetcar, and when I took out my phone to call you, the battery was dead.”
    She gave him a tight-lipped smile. The date wasn’t off to a great start. But this was the first guy who’d asked her out in years, so she ought to give him a chance.
    “I’m so sorry,” he went on. “Really, I am.” He smiled sheepishly. “You look lovely tonight.”
    Tyler took off his winter jacket and sat down across from her. He was wearing a button-down navy shirt, which looked quite smart on him. He was a tall man—more than six feet—and he had strong features, dark blond hair with just a bit of a curl, the beginnings of a beard. The sort of man any woman would find attractive.
    Maya had a sip of her drink and hoped his tardiness would be the only strike against him.
    * * * *
    Half an hour later, they were finished with their appetizers and everything was going well. But Maya couldn’t shake the feeling that there must be something wrong with Tyler.
    She’d met him at a colleague’s housewarming party the previous Saturday afternoon. He’d asked her a bit about her job, told her he was a financial analyst, and then they’d talked about movies for a while.
    “So you’re a financial analyst,” she said now. “Where—”
    “Oh, I quit that job on Tuesday,” he said with a wave of his hand.
    “You…quit.” She had a bad feeling about this. “What do you do now?”
    “I’m an artist. I raid dumpsters, and I make beautiful junk art out of what I find.”
    “You…raid dumpsters.” Maya couldn’t believe she was having this conversation.
    Actually, she could believe it. It was the sort of thing she expected from a guy who asked her out. In fact, it was a step up from dealing drugs or running a dog-fighting ring.
    “Do you sell your work?” she asked.
    “Not yet. But I will. Don’t look at me like that. I couldn’t work at that job another minute. It was stealing my soul.”
    She’d always hated that expression. Such melodramatic garbage.
    “What do you do for money?” Maya hoped he wouldn’t expect her to pay for both their meals.
    “I have savings. Those should tide me over until next January. But I expect to be making a decent living as an artist by April.”
    “Really? That’s optimistic.”
    He glared at her. “You’re trying to crush my spirit. Like everyone at my old job.”
    Just her luck that when a man finally asked her out, he was a financial analyst turned dumpster diver who said things like “steal my soul” and “crush my spirit.” Why was her love life so pathetic?
    “I’m not trying to crush your spirit,” she said, holding back laughter. “I’m just trying to be practical. It’s difficult to make a living as an artist. If you didn’t like your old career, fair enough. But surely there are other options.” Options that