I stop in front of the large glass window on the other side. It takes up an entire wall and provides us with an unobstructed view of the field. It’s flashy. Much more than I’ve ever seen the laid-back Finn throw around his money. Here, in this room, it’s impossible not to see him as the video game billionaire. Sunday mornings when he’s taken up a spot on one of Cosmo’s bright orange couches it’s easy to forget. He might not own the Giants, but surely he has enough money he could.
Aspen stands beside me, rapping on the window with a knuckle twice. “Nice view, right?”
She smiles with her brown eyes as sweet and nice as ever. I wish I could be more like Aspen. She might be dating Finn now, but a year ago she was normal. “It’s a little much, don’t you think?”
She shrugs proof she’s around the wealth so much she doesn’t see it anymore. “It’s the one time Finn spends money with abandon.” She turns and watches Finn and Grant pile snacks on their plates from the long bar in the corner of the room. Speaking louder she says, “Well this and these crazy Dragons Reborn pictures he bought at this art gallery one night.”
Finn whips around. “Hey! You said you liked them. I bought them to impress you.”
“Yes, but you’re the one who hung them above the bed.” She laughs. “I’m kidding. They’re lovely.”
He obviously buys it, turning back to the row of food, but from Aspen’s head tilt I’m not sure I do.
“Come on. The couches are comfy and Finn always makes us get here an hour before the game starts.”
“Do you hear this nonsense, Grant?” Finn says, but the only reply from Grant is mumbled words mixed in with food as he chews.
“Actually, he likes to miss the traffic. Not that there’s ever a time without traffic in the city.”
“Grant deleted my Uber app, so we had to take a regular cab. Someone he has on retainer.” I make air quotes around retainer. It’s fishy if you ask me.
Rich people.
“I keep telling her Uber isn’t safe.”
Aspen’s head whips around and then settles back on me. “This is true. Have you read about the whack jobs in the paper?”
“I thought you weren’t reading the paper anymore?” her boyfriend butts in, flashing Aspen a look of concern.
She shrugs. “It’s the Internet, Finn. You can’t not read it.”
“Maybe I should buy you a car?” To my horror the comment comes from Grant not Finn where it would be acceptable.
Aspen and I both gasp stealing so much oxygen from the room I worry Grant and Finn will suffocate.
Thankfully Aspen speaks since my mouth still hangs open while I concentrate on not throwing up my breakfast. “Whoa. Slow your roll, old man. Way too soon. Don’t scare Clare away. We like her.”
Grant shakes his head clearly confused. “Why? Doesn’t Clare deserve gifts? I’m going to give her the world. Why is that wrong?”
Everyone in the room is frozen. The single moving body parts are our eyes as they dart back and forth between each person. Grant is being completely unreasonable, but if I don’t change the topic, no one else will.
“How about we start with you getting me a snack?”
He nods. “I can do that. A little bit of everything.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes to the ceiling sure he hasn’t gotten the point.
When both boys have their backs turned again, Aspen whispers across the leather couch, “What’s up with you and Grant?”
What’s up with us? Isn’t it obvious? He’s the big rich handsome spider using his money to lure me into his web. If I don’t get out soon, I’ll never be free again.
“We’re friends,” I whisper back.
“Just friends?” she asks, with both eyebrows raised in a particular look I think she means to be questioning or disbelief — or she’s practicing her serial killer look. It’s hard to know.
“Yes!” Why does no one believe me on this?
“Uh-huh,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like she believes. “We’ll talk tomorrow morning at brunch.”
My mind races for an excuse why I won’t be there tomorrow. The couch bounces as Grant sits beside me and hands over a plate stuffed full of random food. Pretzels, a little hot dog wrapped in dough, a pile of dip on the side with crackers circled around it, and three pieces of mini sandwich almost falling off the edge.
“If you don’t eat all the sandwiches, I’ll take them off your hands,” Grant says and I pull the plate close as protection from his wandering hands.
In fact, I might be coming down with another summer flu.
Aspen laughs reminding me of why I absolutely cannot go to girls’ brunch tomorrow. There’ll be nothing but Grant third-degree. My stomach rolls at the thought.
