Crushing Crystal by Evan Marshall Read Free Book Online Page A

three minutes explaining that his friends don’t like warm beer. But who could blame him? In my perfect reunion fantasy, I didn’t repeat “I live in SoHo. I’m a partner at Deloitte and Touche” like some sort of Rain Woman. The next thirty seconds of silence was a frantic search for something to say.
    Then I was rescued. Matt smiled. “Hey, what would you say to dinner tonight?”
    Do not jump up and down right now. Do not throw yourself into his arms and wrap your legs around his waist. And by no means say the words, “Praise God.”
    â€œI’m not sure. Why don’t you ask me?” I surprised myself and said instead.
    He gave me that cocky snort of a laugh and said, “Okay. I’d love to have dinner with you tonight.”
    â€œThat’s a statement, not a question,” I smiled.
    â€œJesus, Malone, you’re a tough one to please. Okay, would you like to have dinner with us tonight?”
    Us?
    Turns out I finally got my “we.” We, that is Cindy, Eve and I were invited to dinner with Matt and the three warm beers. My heart sank. I was hoping for dinner by candlelight, the long-awaited revelation of what went wrong between us. Perhaps a quick illicit kiss to seal the closure of my quiet desperation for Matt’s love. Instead, he was thinking extra large pizzas and a nostalgic game of quarters.
    This format had its upside, though. If dinner was not a date, I was not cheating on Reilly. Group dinner. Friendly banter over the invitation. Totally innocent. A little flirtation might be just what I need to infuse some sexual energy into my marriage, I tried to convince myself. I can fool myself much of the time, but not this time. For me, it was a date. Although at the time, I was the only one who thought so. The thought was far more exciting than it should have been. As much as I knew that the smart thing would have been to decline Matt’s invitation, it seemed impossible. Saying no was not an option. A better person would have resisted. I asked for directions to the restaurant. There was no use denying that fact that I was still incredibly, inexplicably, unquestionably drawn to him.
    Surely the word must have spread among moths that it’s a bad idea to fly into the enticing bright flame. And yet every idiot moth out there thinks , I’ll just get close enough to feel the heat, then pull back just before getting . . . zap.
    Matt walked away after giving me directions to the restaurant. After a few steps, he turned back to me. “Listen, can you wait here for a few minutes? I really want to catch up with you Malone, but I can’t just disappear from a beer run, you know? Stay right here, okay?” Matt said, pointing to the spot I was in. “Don’t move.”
    Silly boy, I couldn’t move if I tried.
    He walked away as fast as he could without spilling the drinks, then looked back at me and mouthed Don’t move.
    Hurry back, I thought. Better still, run.

Chapter 5
    M oments later, Matt returned as the marching band was playing “Life’s Been Good to Me So Far.” My Maserati does one-eighty-five . . .
    During the second half of the football game, we sat together on the grass outside the stadium and listened to the crowd roar with every new Michigan score. In an hour, Matt took me through the last fourteen years of his life. Every few minutes, he told me about an occasion that reminded him of me. Without question, these were my favorite parts of his stories. “I even called you once about three years ago just to say hello, but the machine said some guy named Reilly lived there so I figured I better not leave a message.” Though I knew it was a ludicrous attempt, I tried recalling which hang-up was Matt’s, what I was doing, wearing, feeling when I hit the delete button to erase the hang-up. “So who’s Reilly, your husband?” Matt asked.
    I nodded solemnly. “He was.”
    Was?
    â€œ