Unsuitable Men by Nia Forrester Page A

that made her feel somewhat smug. She liked the idea that he may have struggled all evening with the urge to call her and not been able to sleep until he did.
    “Tracy,” he heaved a deep sigh and mumbled something to himself that she couldn’t hear.
    She waited.
    “I’m back on Wednesday afternoon,” he said finally. “I’ll pick you up at your place for dinner at eight.”
    “Okay,” she said quietly, stifling a smile.
    “ Alright ?” he demanded.
    “Yes,” she said louder. “Okay.”
    “Good. And Tracy?”
    “Yes?”
    “Don’t leave me any more shitty messages,” Brendan said before he hung up on her.
    Tracy put the phone back on the charger and turned to hug her pillow once again, smiling into it.
     
     
    She didn’t need anything new and it wasn’t as though tonight was a date or anything, but Tracy felt compelled to shop, and it was an urge she rarely resisted. She moved through the boutique, slowly, taking in the shape and cut of each dress, each pant, each blouse, pointing out to the sales consultant, which she wanted to try.
    “This is a lot of effort into a ‘quick bite to eat’,” Russell said from behind her.
    Tracy shot him a look. Russell was her and Riley’s former housemate, from way back when they’d first moved to the city after college. For the past year he’d been living in Atlanta where he thought—mistakenly it turned out—that he would meet what he called “an interesting new crop of men.” But after several months of dating men he referred to as “flaming drama queens” he had returned to New York where, after all, Tracy believed, he really belonged.
    “I like having new things,” Tracy said.
    “Hmm,” Russell said skeptically, looking at his nails. “Whatever you say. It’s obvious you’re into him.”
    “He’s a good friend,” Tracy said pulling out a short orange linen tunic. She remembered having the distinct impression that Brendan liked her in that orange maxi.
    “No. I’m a good friend. Riley is a good friend. You would never go shopping just for a quick bite to eat with either of us,” Russell pointed out.
    He paused to regard himself in a nearby full-length mirror. Tracy couldn’t blame him. He was pretty damn cute. The color of dark chocolate with eyes as black as coal, and the physique of someone who spent many vain hours in the gym. Needless to say, Russell and Tracy had a lot more in common than Russell and Riley did. He was the one Tracy consulted about fashion, hair, make-up and all things trendy since Riley was hopeless in that arena.
    “Why couldn’t you be straight?” Tracy said glancing him over. “I think it’s an act of aggression to be as fine as you are and not like women.”
    “You’re trying to distract me with flattery,” Russell accused. Then he paused. “But go on. How fine am I again?”
    Tracy laughed and nodded to the sales consultant, letting her know that she was ready to try on her selections.
    “No, but seriously,” Russell said. “I’m still trying to wrap my mind around why you’re not all over this dude.”
    “Because he’s just not . . . right for a long-term relationship. I could never see myself married to someone like him.”
    “Someone like who ? A man who dropped everything and drove like a bat out of hell to Brooklyn to rescue you from unspecified danger?”
    Tracy had shared with Russell only some of the details of Friday night’s misadventure; just enough so that she could tell him about Brendan’s visit, but not sufficient information to make him alarmed and go blabbing to Riley. As far as he knew, it was just some guy who wouldn’t leave; a predicament Russell himself had plenty of experience with.
    “He’s in the entertainment business,” Tracy said. “He’s a player. He travels to a million places, sits around in clubs sipping Dom Perignon and socializing with music video girls and models.”
    “And yet here you are, acting like you’re going to prom when all you’re doing