Dina Santorelli Read Online Free Page A

ate.
    The
bright afternoon sun blazed down upon the park, and she put her sunglasses on
and scanned the evolving crowd, which seemed to change minute by minute like
the ebb and flow of a tide. In the center of the grass was a woman sitting
alone and sipping what looked like an iced cappuccino, judging by the insignia
of her tall paper cup. She was tanned from head to toe with skin tones that contrasted
with her white suit, consisting of a halter top and miniskirt, and she had that
relaxed, LA look about her—one of her white sandals had been tossed carelessly
onto the grass, while the other dangled from the big toe of her left foot. To
Jamie's left, a man was lying in the grass with his arms and legs stretched out
as if he were making an angel in snow. People stepped over him in their search
to find a vacant chair, but he didn't budge, seemingly unaware that anyone was
around. Further west, near the Sixth Avenue entrance, a dark-haired,
broad-shouldered man in a black suit leaned on the veterans' monument.
Everything was still on—his suit jacket over a white-collared shirt, which was
unbuttoned at the top revealing a large gold cross—and he was wearing dark
sunglasses with his arms crossed over his chest, a far cry from the untroubled
mood of the crowd. Jamie took another bite of her hot dog and watched several
sheepish-looking men approach the woman in white and hover around her like bees
while she stretched her arms in the air like she'd just awoken from a nap, her
shifting halter top revealing a silver belly ring.
    Jamie
looked down at her own double-breasted suit that she had plucked from the
can-wear-one-more-time-before-dry-cleaning rack in her closet. She imagined her
body language wasn't enticing anyone to just wander over and chat. Did she
even remember how to do that? She looked again at the man in black. Jamie
probably looked as unapproachable as he did.
    "Excuse
me," someone said, making Jamie instinctively tighten her grip on her
pocketbook. "Do you have the time?"
    In
front of her was a short, balding man in a tracksuit wearing the kind of
eyeglasses that strapped around one's entire head. He was still jogging, in place,
looking a bit tense, waiting for Jamie to answer. She pulled out her phone.
    "Yes,
it's just about two o'clock," she said.
    "Thank
you." The man jogged there for a few seconds longer than he should have, according
to Jamie's standards, before nodding and heading off toward Sixth Avenue.
    Jamie
kept her eye on him, hoping he wouldn't turn back around, since he looked a bit
creepy. She marveled at how in a park packed with people, the guy had chosen to
approach her, kind of like how she always managed to be the one to come home
with all the mosquito bites after a summer outing while everyone else got away
scot-free; the whole bit her mother used to give her about being so sweet did
little to stem the itching, although she had to admit that it did make her feel
better. She wondered if it was her sweetness that prompted jogger-guy to stop
by, or whether it was more likely that Jamie looked as if she had nothing
better to do than dig in her bag for her phone. Jogger-guy hurried up the park
entrance steps and out onto Sixth Avenue, passing right by the man in black who
still stood by the veterans' monument with his arms folded. Had he not moved
all this time , Jamie wondered.
    Her
phone vibrated in her hands. It was a text from her brother Edward.
    HOW
DID IT GO?
    Jamie
smiled at the four little words, which reminded her that, despite her feelings
of isolation, or freedom, she did have someone she was still tethered to. She
texted back:
    SHITTY.
    She
waited a moment. The phone vibrated again.
    THEIR
LOSS.
    She
smiled and wrote:
    DAMN
STRAIGHT!
    She
was watching the men wave and walk away from the blonde sun goddess in the
grass when another text arrived:
    WHEN
ARE YOU HEADING BACK?
    Jamie
wrote:
    WHAT
R U WRITING A BOOK? :)
    Within
seconds came the reply:
    NO,
BUT U SHOULD B.
    Jamie
sighed. Edward