The Gravity of What Has Gone (11)

“So what’s next?” Naomi asked over her shoulder as she leaned down to line up her shot. The pool table was in its usual sad state of affairs: just a couple of her solids scattered through a forest of my stripes. “Are you going to look for a job?”

“I have enough mysteries to solve. I don’t need to try to figure out how to get a work visa, too.” Her response was the sharp clack of billiard balls caroming off each other, missing the pocket by a whisker. “Anyway, I’m not hurting for cash.” I grabbed my cue and surveyed the table.

“I figured you had money, considering how much you’re throwing at your researchers. I just thought, if this doesn’t work out … what next?”

I focused on my shot, feigning disinterest.

She huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I told you, don’t stick out your thumb like that.” Her warm, slim hand closed over mine, adjusting it. Her body was very close. “This can’t be your whole life, Gil. You have to have more.”

“Like what?” I waited for something to interrupt us, but nothing did.

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