“Because if you’re getting ready to go take part in a complex bank heist, then you being vague right now makes sense. I would actually appreciate you leaving me out of the loop since I’m not trying to get shanked in prison for being your accomplice. But since you said you’re not about to commit a crime, I’m not sure why you’re refusing to tell me where you’re going.”

Well, being mysterious was fun while it lasted. It was a brief and shining moment—like Camelot.

“We’re going to McFadden’s. It’s around the corner.”

I zip my bag closed in a huff. I’m poised to leave with my hand on the doorknob when Ryan speaks again.

“I would ask which friends you’re meeting but I’d hate to throw off your femme fatale persona any more than I already have.”

His smug remark rubs me the wrong way and I turn back around. “To put you out of your misery, I’m meeting two guys and my friend Maggie.”

That earns me a surprised look. I enjoy it.

“Oh, yeah? Is this a double-date thing?”

What’s it to you, smart-ass?

“I don’t know if I’d call it a date, but Adam seemed really interesting and cute so I wouldn’t mind if it was.”

Ryan’s jaw tightens. “Well, have fun.”

“Thanks,” I say cheerfully. I exit the apartment without another word.

I’ve learned a lot about Adam in the past hour. He’s an accountant, he grew up on Long Island, he wrestled in high school and, on his days off, he likes to watch reruns of Seinfeld and do crossword puzzles. To sum things up, he’s lovely.

I have also learned several other things while talking to Adam. There are seven buttons on his shirt. No one has scored in the Mets game playing on the flat screen above the bar. A couple standing a few feet away is arguing over their plans for this coming weekend. And I have also learned, after stealing clandestine peeks at my phone, that I have only been here for an hour and ten minutes and it is way too early for me to go home.

It’s not that I’m having a bad time; I’m just not focused. I should be giving Adam my full attention. He’s good-looking, nice, he has a job and he doesn’t give off any noticeable let’s-see-if-you-fit-in-the-trunk-of-my-car vibes. By modern standards, he’s the holy grail. Other single thirtysomethings would gladly club me over the head and walk over my unconscious body to get to him. That’s why it’s so unfortunate that upon further investigation, I’m not attracted to him at all.

He and Kyle have just walked over to the jukebox that charges a dollar a song when Maggie slides next to me at the cocktail table we’re standing around.