“You could always stand up to her,” I say.
“Yeah, right. I don’t have the balls for that. You know how she gets. My mamá too. I’ll never meet the standards they’ve set for me.”
“Thank God you don’t have balls.”
She laughs, and I add, “You at your mamá’s?”
“Yeah. Last-minute family dinner. We’re filling out invitations for a big luncheon she’s hosting in three weeks.”
“Now you’re just trying to make me jealous.” She laughs again, and I sober. “Sorry you’re being grilled tonight. I think the trick isbeing a defiant little shit early on. Parents get tired of trying to fix you and leave you the hell alone.” I huff out a laugh. “Probably the only thing I ever did right.”
“You don’t think I’ve been defiant? Matt, we were assholes growing up.”
“No. Jensen and I were assholes. You were the too-sweet girl who hung out with us.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’m afraid I corrupted you.”
I take one last swig of my drink, set it down, and head toward the exit.
I’ve made my appearance.
“Can’t corrupt the willing.”
I smother a grin, waving a hand in goodbye to people as I pass.
“God, I felt so cool having thebad boyas my boyfriend. Remember when we stole your mom’s cigarettes and smoked them on the patio?” Her laughter bursts through the speaker. “We hid them in the planters when she came home, and Jensen told her we were lighting a candle. We were so dumb.”
“Yeah, and we should’ve had our asses kicked, but Mom didn’t give a shit.”Still doesn’t—except when I skip Midnight Mass. Which I always do. I spend Christmas Eve with Jensen’s family. Kills her.
“Hold on a sec,” I say so I can text Pete, my driver, letting him know I’m ready. I walk halfway down the steps of the museum, take a seat, then bring the phone back to my ear. “Oh, forgot to tell you, I have to go to Chicago next week. Business with Leo. Can we reschedule lunch?”
“I’d have to check my schedule, but Thursday or Friday might work.”
“Should we tentatively plan on Thursday then?”
“Sure.”
“It’s a date,” I say with a grin.
“Adaydate.”
I chuckle. “You won’t let me forget it.”
“Nope.” I can practically hear the smile in her voice. “Friend zone territory.”
I grimace. “A place no man wants to be.”
There’s a beat of silence before she says, “Guess I should let you go before Mamá and Yaiyiá implode.” She pauses before she adds, “Night, Matt.”
“Night, babe.”
Leoand I make our way to the back of Craft’s Pub and Kitchen, a Michelin-starred restaurant he co-owns with Alley’s brother, who also happens to be the chef. I’m sure Leo’s sick of eating here, but the food’s fantastic and the drinks are even better. The vibe’s cool, too: moody, modern, and never too loud.
Since I don’t live in Chicago and don’t get to eat here often, Leo appeases me.
I’ve been looking forward to this all day, especially after the hot dog I inhaled last night at the Bears game. I took my godson, Cole. The kid talked my ear off the entire time and ate so much junk food I almost felt sick for him. Nate gave me hell about not getting an invite, and that I kept Cole out late on a school night, but I took Nate to lunch this afternoon between meetings to make up for it.
Not that lunch makes up for seats five rows behind the bench. Not even close.
Bears won, too. Epic night. I fucking love that kid.
