That startles a laugh out of me. Then the laugh dies, because the next words come harder.
“We’ve also had sex,” I say.
Frankie inhales like she’s about to pass out.
“Multiple times.”
“Stop.”
“On a plane.”
“Stop.”
“In a suite.”
“Zatanna!”
I bury my face in my free hand, laughing and mortified at the same time. “You said let you finish.”
“I did not realize finish meantcrime romance fever dream.”
I sink farther into the chair, coffee forgotten. “I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” Frankie is pacing now. I can hear it. “Do you hear yourself? He is your boss. He is rich-rich. He is old enough to know better. He is, and I need to circle back to this,the mafia.”
“Yes.”
“And you are at a beach resort with him.”
“Yes.”
“Voluntarily.”
“…Yes.”
There is another long silence.
Then, because she is Frankie and not remotely built for subtlety, she asks, “Is it at least good?”
I close my eyes. Heat crawls up my neck. “Frankie.”
“That is not a no.”
I laugh helplessly. “It’s annoyingly good.”
“Of course it is.”
“That’s the worst part.”
“No,” she says, “the worst part is that this sounds like the beginning of an extremely specific Dateline episode.”
That sobers me a little. Because she’s not wrong.
I sit up straighter and look down at the waves. “I know how this sounds,” I say. “I do. And if this was anybody else telling me this story, I’d assume she had completely lost it.”
“But?”
“But…” I pause. “He’s not what I thought.”
