Freudian Slip by Erica Orloff Read Free Book Online Page A

Diet Coke.” She sat down at the long bar.
    Carlos, of the smoldering dark looks, black eyes and rock-star bald head and earring, stared at her.
    â€œWhat’d you do, Kate-Baby?”
    â€œHmm?” she asked.
    â€œWhat’d you do? To your face? New haircut? Something.” He leaned back and folded his armsacross his muscular chest. His tattoo of Jesus on a cross flexed along with his biceps.
    â€œNo,” she said, puzzled.
    It’s the shirt. Told you. Nice rack.
    â€œWhat is it?” Carlos asked again.
    â€œHmm?” She shook her head to quiet this suddenly obnoxious inner voice. What the hell was in that wine last night? They were breasts, or even boobs. But never a rack. What was wrong with her?
    â€œMaybe it’s my breasts…um…shirt.”
    Carlos nodded appreciatively. “You should wear it more often, angel.” He propped his elbows on the bar and leaned forward.
    Kate felt herself flush. Carlos was one of those guys that it would never, in a million years, cross her mind to date. He oozed sex. Right down to the ever-present bulge in his Levis. She had never been one for meaningless sex, no “friends with benefits.” That was Mal’s thing.
    â€œOkay,” she heard herself say.
    The slices came out of the oven, burned the way she liked them. She bit into the gooey cheese and promptly burned the top of her mouth, causing tears to spring to her eyes. She quickly took a sip of ice-cold soda.
    â€œBurn your lips, angel? I could kiss them for you.” Carlos winked at her.
    Oh, for God’s sake. Is that the best this grease-ball can do? Finish up and head out the door.
    Kate blew on her piece of pizza, and ate it, savoring the perfect combination of cheese, crust and tomato sauce. Carlos continued to flirt with her, and Kate made a mental note to drag out the shirt from Hong Kong more often. She didn’t want Carlos so much, but the attention was rather nice. After last night with David, she had wondered if she was pathetically unlovable.
    She finished her pizza, paid her bill with a twenty and waved goodbye to Carlos, who was, typically, onto his next flirtation.
    Kate strolled home, starting to feel a bit better. She stopped in Washington Square Park to watch the speed chess players. Sometimes she played a game or two, but this evening, as dusk settled over the sky, she was content to watch. On one end of the park stood one of NYU’s buildings, its deep purple flag flapping in the summer breeze.
    She was an NYU alumna. She remembered wistfully looking at the university and knowing there was no way her family could afford it. But her father worked his off days as a carpenter for his uncle’s construction company, and saved every dime. Between that, grants and student loans, she’d been able to attend her dream college.
    Three in-line skaters went past. A guy strummeda guitar, playing, she listened carefully, a Radio-head song done as a slow acoustic number. She saw a few skateboarders, more students and a few people in professional clothes, eating take-out dinners. She loved the park.
    She walked the rest of the way home and entered her building and then climbed the staircase to her apartment.
    As she started down toward her door, she saw the guy from across the hall holding Honey.
    â€œOh my God.” She felt a sob escape and raced toward her dog.
    â€œFound her just sitting on my doorstep about fifteen minutes ago when I went to do the laundry. Just sitting there, looking up at me. Patiently waiting.”
    He placed the now wriggling little dog in her arms, and she could feel Honey trembling—what she always did when she was excited. Her little tail was wagging, and she “yipped” once.
    Tears in her eyes, she spontaneously hugged her neighbor. “Thank you, Zack. Thank you so much.”
    â€œI didn’t do anything,” he said modestly.
    That’s right he didn’t.
    â€œOh, but you have no idea.