Blaise’s eyebrows practically hit his hairline. “Big guy? Works for Style Me?”
“You know him, babe?” Jordan asks, reaching for the chips.
“I’ve met him—once, at a party. And some of the actors I’ve worked with are clients of his. I’m… a little surprised. I wouldn’t have picked him as your type, Phil.”
I don’t get a chance to answer before Butch says, “Ooh, really? Why? Spill.”
Blaise eyes me cautiously. “I didn’t mean?—”
“I get it,” I assure him. “We don’t look like we have a lot in common.”
“Yeah. Though I guess you’re both in fashion, and he doesn’t talk much either. So appearances can be deceiving.”
“Can we take a minute to appreciate how fucking hot he is?” Xera cuts in. “I’ve only seen one little profile pic, but there was still a lot to like.”
“There really is,” Harold says, staring at his phone screen, and there’s an immediate mad scramble as everyone who hasn’t seen Griff yet races to look over Harold’s shoulder. “He looks big. Is he big?”
“He’s six-three and built,” I confirm. I know because it came up last night. I remember what else came up last night, and my face gets hot for the millionth time today.
Polly snickers. “From the looks of that blush, he’s big all over.”
“Do straight guys make jokes like that?” I wonder, desperately trying to distract myself and them from thinking about Griff’s dick.
“This one does. Anyway, I’ve been friends with all of you so long that I’m practically an honorary queer person.”
“Oh, honey,” Calla chides. “It doesn’t work that way. The word you’re looking for is ‘ally’—but yes, you can still make those jokes. Where are you staying tonight? I assume Harold’s got the guest room here.”
“Dibs,” Harold says absently without looking up from what I presume are photos of Griff. I really hope he’s referring to the guest room and not my guy.
“Can I crash with you?” Polly asks. “Otherwise I can get a hotel.”
I let Calla answer, since he sleeps in her bed when he stays with us.
“Sure.” There’s something in the casual way she says the word that gets my attention, but she looks normal, and I’m not going to ask in front of everyone. She and I are definitely having a conversation soon, though.
“Okay,” Jordan says, “so you meet this good-looking guy who works in the same field as you, hit it off, and start texting? Am I getting that right? Butch said something about a dog.”
So I tell them all about Vivi and what a doting dog daddy Griff is, which segues into Vivi and Carter’s nighttime routine, and from there into the details of last night and how we went from a maybe-date to fledgling relationship. By the time the pizzas are reduced to a few stray crusts, I’m bashfully admitting that Griff makes me feel giddy and I have high hopes for what that might mean.
Xera sighs dreamily and leans against Butch. “I love this, and I’m so happy for you, Phil.”
“Me too,” Blaise agrees. “But I think we’re all in agreement that we need to meet Griff.”
The chorus of yeses is practically deafening.
“You will,” I promise. “It’s early, but?—”
“This weekend,” Polly interrupts. “While Harold and I are here.”
What? “That’s too soon. We literally just started dating last night.”
“Ask him,” Harold suggests. “Lunch tomorrow. We’ll understand if he says no.”
“Isay no. I’m not asking him to meet my friends after one date.”
Polly screws up his face. “Fair enough. What about next weekend? I can stick around until then and go straight to my mom’s for the holidays.”
“No. That’s still?—”
