Yep, something like that.
I chuckle, feeling more relaxed already, just from the short exchange with George.
George
So where are you?
I’ve completely forgotten the name of the place, so I look around, trying to spot any clues. I come up empty. No sign of Zoe yet, either, which is fine. I’d like to chat with George for anotherminute, and for whatever reason, I don’t really feel like letting her know George and I are texting.
Not sure. Someplace in the East Village with red leather booths and old brick? Mood lighting.
Augie’s?
Yeah, that sounds right.
I can just barely see down the hall to the ladies’ room from where I’m sitting. The door swings open, and for a second, I tense up, ready to shove my phone back into my pocket, but it’s just one of the servers.
I look back at my phone, but George hasn’t written anything more. Probably for the best—Zoe will be back any minute, and while I’m not thrilled with the trend today, it’s a nice enough place, and she has sent me to so many weird spots lately, you have to figure some of them would lean more queer-friendly.
She’s probably—in her Zoe way—trying to find places where I’ll feel comfortable. She wants me to get out, not just come to New York and hermit away somewhere else. And maybe she has a point. It would be different if she were setting me up on blind dates or something.
I’m just oversensitive to this sort of thing after Beau. Not to mention the well-meaning folks back in Moonlake Village suggesting dating apps one too many times. But it’s not fair to take my knee-jerk reaction out on Zoe.
The bathroom door opens again, and this time it is Zoe. She starts toward the table, pausing at the bar to chat with the bartender there—and now I feel silly. She probably just comes here from time to time. Probably with George! Which would explain why George recognized the place when I described it.
Well, now I feel both stupid and like a jerk.
My phone buzzes.
George
Sorry, it took me a minute to find what I was looking for. I hate to do this to you, but I think you’re going to want to see this.
Then there’s a link. To a FlashPop article titled101 Places to Meet Your Soulmate When You’re Gay and New to New York. By Zoe Wilde.
Dammit, Zoe. She has to know I don’t want any part of this sort of thing.
I send George a quick, grim “thanks” and then click through to the article. But there’s almost no need, because sure enough, laid out there in chirpy, logical fashion, is almost every place Zoe has sent me (or tried to send me) in the last few days. Plus, dozens of others that were presumably in store for me later this week. All compiled by her (along with a very steamy photo of two guys pressed up against an alley wall), two years ago last August.
It’s at that moment that the conniving cupid herself reappears at the table.
“Hi!” she says, smiling broadly. “What happened to the guy who wanted to buy you a drink? He was cute, wasn’t he?”
“I have a question for you, Zo.”
Her smile falters at my tone. “Sure, babe, what’s up?”
“You tell me. What in the ever-loving hell is this?”
I hold up my phone.
DECEMBER 23
CHAPTER 27
GEORGE
I am upbright and early, ready to get down to it with Sebastian. Or at least aware that I need to because it’s two days before Christmas and Anabelwillnotice if I don’t, in fact, turn in a manuscript three weeks from now.
