“Ican’tbe George in there, Luciano. I’m supposed to show them I can hang outside the office, but Ican’t. I don’t want to turn into a wallflower and lose the shreds of respect I’ve started to earn the past fewdays.”
“So Sebastián is comingaround?”
“No, I meant with the other guys. Things haven’t progressed withSebastian.”
“Well . . . for tonight, just try to look past the fact that he’s drop-deadgorgeous.”
“Is thedrop-deadreally necessary?” I asked. Why couldn’t Sebastian just bedecent-looking, or even justattractive?
“You’re trying to work with him,” he continued, “not sleep with him.Unless—”
“Don’t go down thatpath.”
“Why not, G? It’s been like a year. I think you’re officiallyrevirginized.”
“Luciano,” I hissed, turning my back to the bar as if someone might hear. “It’s barely been four months. Rudemuch?”
“Oh, yeah. I blocked out the part where you let your spineless ex sweet talk you into a ‘closure’ fuck. He’s such a piece ofshit.”
“Totally,” I agreed. During the months I’d been incapacitated by the breakup and prone to making excuses for Neal’s behavior, I’d found it helpful to just agree withLuciano.
“You need to erase that experience with someone new,” Luciano said. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you blushing in the café the morning you metSebastián.”
“Don’t thinkIdon’t notice you’re saying his name with an accent because it soundssexier.”
“I’ve been trying to get you to go Latin for years,miamor.”
“For your information, he’s from Boston,” I said. “And his last name is actually Irish. Likemine.”
“He’s Latin, believe me. If you’d like, I can teach you some Spanish words that’ll blow hismind.”
I rolled my eyes. “Dionne wouldn’t take kindly to me fraternizing with a client. Besides, being ‘on’ all the time is taking it out of me. I can’t wait to go home and curl up with a pint of MochaChocolate—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You do not get to choose ice cream over men this often in onelifetime.”
“I can’t stay long anyway.” I checked the time on my phone. “The sitter is about toleave.”
“Oh, come on. Bruno’ll be fine for a fewhours.”
“You’re probably right. There’s a ninety-nine percent chance he’ll be sprawled out on the couch and dreaming of tennis balls until I walk in the door, but that onepercent. . .”
“How long are you going to keep making excuses to bealone?”
“He’snotan excuse—he needsme.”
“Then I’ll go hang with Bruno until you get home,” he said. “There’s aProject Runwaymarathon onanyway.”
“I can’t ask you to dothat.”
“You’re not. I’m volunteering for the good of your sex life. Go get a stiff drink and an even stiffercock.”
“Oh my god. I told you, that’s so nothappening—”
He hung up before I could make a case for a life with just Bruno, a gay best friend, and documentaries about the reign of Catherine theGreat.
I almost jumped when Sebastian spoke behind me. “You have akid?”
I turned. He stood at his full height just outside the door to the bar, jingling change in his pockets, his tie loosened around his neck. He’d still been at the office after I’d left late the night before, yet he didn’t even have bags under his eyes. “I’m sorry?” Iasked.
