Eventually the energy started to wind down. Linda had come back, taken our orders, and refilled our coffee twice. The diner was getting busier, the late lunch crowd starting to trickle in even though it was barely one o’clock.
Priya took a sip of her coffee and tilted her head, studying me with that look she got when she’d figured something out.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not your nothing face. That’s your something face.”
“I don’t have a something face.”
“You absolutely have a something face.” I pointed at her face. “And that’s it. Right there.Thatface.”
She set down her coffee mug and leaned back against the booth. “Okay, fine. Why do I get the feeling there’s something you are not telling me, baby cheeks?”
I felt my face heat up. “Dear God, please don’t call me that in public.”
“Answer the question,” she said, crossing her arms and raising one very accusatory brow.
“There’s nothing I’m not telling you.”
“Finn.” She gave me a look. “Do not make me torture Mark. He will fold like a lawn chair.”
Mark’s eyes lit up with understanding right before he blurted out, “Sidewalk guy showed up.”
I slumped lower in the booth.
“Your lawyer showed up!” Priya was grinning now. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“Because he’s not my lawyer and him being there wasn’t important—”
“Itisimportant!” Mark turned to Priya. “He’s been obsessing over this guy for weeks.”
“I have not beenobsessing—”
“You have been obsessing worse than those boys in that show . . . what was it?Young Royals. Yes, that one, with the pimpled prince,” Priya confirmed.
“Pimpled prince?”
“Yes, it is most unfortunate, but he is still cute somehow.” She scowled. “Now, back to your lawyer—”
“He’s not my—”
“He sat in the corner and waited all night for Finn to grace him with his presence,” Mark, the traitor, offered.
“And?” Priya asked, a second brow joining the first, nearly reaching her hairline.
“And he was wearing a tight white T-shirt and jeans and looked unfairly hot for someone who was plainly exhausted.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
Priya raised an eyebrow. “You noticed what he was wearing? Do men do this thing?”
“Gay men do. It’s genetic or something,” I grumbled, annoyed at having a productive conversation turned into a boy band obsession. “Besides, it was hard not to notice.”
“Did you talk to him?” Priya asked.
“No, he most definitely did not,” Mark said, his tone sounding more like a disappointed father than my best friend. “Jacks tried to relieve him so he couldgo say hello, but Mr. Professional wouldn’t leave his post, not even for a two-minute ‘Give me your number so we can fuck later’ table visit.”
Priya pursed her lips. “Did you at least wave? Wink? Acknowledge his existence?”
