ThisTimeNextDoor by Gretchen Galway Page B

mature.” But he got up and bussed the tables, giving Long Legs a hard look as he dumped the dishes in the bin. He didn’t look old enough to drive. What made him think he could hit on a grown-up woman like Rose?
    Encouragement . On their way out, while Mark watched in shock, Rose accepted a piece of paper from Long Legs and slipped it into her shoulder bag with a smile and a wave.
    The night was unusually calm, almost balmy, and the moon was an orange globe at the horizon. Mark pulled her car door open. “Did you tell him I was your brother?”
    “Nope.”
    “Just friends?”
    “I didn’t say anything about you,” she said.
    “And he just gave you his number anyway?”
    “Sure. That’s how it works, Mark. You can’t wait for girls to fall in your lap.”  
    “You can in some places.” He started the engine. “It just costs a little extra.”
    “Whatever works for you,” she said brightly, patting his knee. “It’s great to get out, isn’t it?”
    “I’m sure your website skills are totally at professional levels now.”
    “Yeah. That is a problem. Thanks for reminding me of the carnage of my life. For a minute there I was almost feeling happy.”
    He pulled out into traffic, glanced at her. “Sorry.”
    “Yeah.” Twisting around in the seat, she dumped something in the back with a thud, rearranged herself facing forward. “Shit.”
    “What was that?”
    “Your book,” she said. “You’re right. I can’t fake this one. I’ll have to find something else.”
    Oddly disappointed she was giving up so easily, he said, “If anyone could fake it, you could.”
    “Thanks, I think.”
    “What did you study in college? Did you say you went to college?”
    “Yeah, I went.”
    He waited. When she didn’t elaborate, he said, “Even if it was underwater basket-weaving, there has to be some practical application. What was it, art history? English?”
    She spoke so quietly he barely heard her. “Biology.”
    “But that’s great. There’s tons of work in the medical field.”
    “Oh, really? Have you looked, Einstein?” she demanded.
    He braked hard enough at the stop sign to make her grab the dash. “Just because you’re feeling sorry for yourself is no reason to yell at me.”  
    He accelerated, passed a bike pulling a baby trailer covered with blinking yellow and orange lights. They passed under the BART train tracks into Rockridge.
    “You’re right,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. You’re great. I am feeling sorry for myself and I’ve got no right to.”
    “No, you should feel sorry for yourself. Your ex-boyfriend and your best friend are moving into your house together to have a baby and you’ve got to move out but you don’t have a job,” he said. “Just be nice to me while you wallow.”
    “I will.” She patted his thigh again. “I promise.”
    When her hands were back to her side of the car, he relaxed. Maybe he should ask her to stop doing that. “You want to stay here in the Bay Area, right? Or are you thinking about just going home?” He realized suddenly how badly he wanted her to stay.
    “Not going home.”
    Good . “Okay. So, you were a bio major. Did you graduate?”
    “Yes.”
    “Was it, pardon me for putting it this way, but you haven’t bought me Social Skills for Dumbshits yet, so I might get offensive here,” he said. “Was it a real school? One somebody out here might’ve heard of?”
    “Those are two different questions,” she said. “It was Cornell. Whether or not Californians have heard of it, who knows? You all have your heads up your ass about some pretty basic stuff.”
    “You have an Ivy League degree in biology,” he said.
    “Yes.”
    “You’re right,” he said. “It’s hopeless. Shall I drive you to the homeless shelter?”
    “You don’t understand. I’m not a doctor or anything, I only have my Bachelor’s.”
    An idea was nagging at him, but it was risky, loaded with pitfalls, potentially embarrassing. Did he want to give up