“If you weren’t here, I’d already be watching CEO classes by now.”
“So I’m distracting you,” he concludes, “from the important stuff.”
I grab a magazine and open it but glance at him over the top. “It was nice of you to stay,” I say. “Maybe I don’t want you to be alone tonight since Camila asked you to stay in town this weekend. You must be on your own dime for your hotel for the next two nights.”
Will glances at the cityscape. “I wanted to stay. I like spending time here.”
“I’ve noticed. You talk like you love New York but need constant breaks from it.”
“Idolove New York,” Will agrees. “And Idoneed constant breaks from it. The lifestyles are different, here and there.”
“What you mean is, instead of clubbing with hot girls in bodycon dresses while you drink dirty martinis on your Friday nights, you get to look atturtles,and then go on sweaty, dorky bike rides with me—acoworker—in the least exclusive location possible,” I joke.
“I think you’ve got bodycon covered, so nothing lost there.” He nods at my outfit, smirking. Bike shorts, an athletic tank, not much else. My ass is aimed straight up since I’m lying on my stomach. I blush, thinking of adjusting, but that would only draw his attention back to it. “But yes, to the rest of it.”
“Wait. Are youconfirmingyou drink dirty martinis with hot girls in exclusive clubs when you’re in Manhattan?”
Will winces. “Not willingly.”
“Yes, what a chore.”
“Lately it feels like one.”
“So, it still happens with semi-regularity?” I’m intrigued beyond belief.
“There’s a lot of networking that goes on with my job,” Will explains. “Showboating, salesmanship, taking clients out on the town. I find it demanding and overwhelming and uncomfortable. I feel like I can breathe when I’m in Austin.”
“Are you sure that’s not a difference in air quality?”
“It’s at least fifty percent a difference in air quality,” Will allows.
“And the other fifty?”
“Stuff like this.” He jerks a thumb at our bikes, tangled up like old friends. “We just rode almost fifteen miles on the same greenway without being forced out onto a city block.”
“Amazing how much space there is when you’re not on an island,” I quip.
“I had,” Will goes on, “the best barbecue of my life today. And it was this new place, less than a year old. I’ve never seen it on any food media list, but it should be there, right at the top.”
I smile. “You really like barbecue.”
“I really likegoodbarbecue. Good anything. Austin has goodeverything.”
“You’re making me hungry.”
“There’s a food truck over there.” He points, and I follow his eyes to a taco truck across the field, the line fifteen people deep. “Do you want something? My treat.”
No more personal favors,I remind myself. It was the rule we established in my office, to curbthis,and Will agreed.
“I mean, if you were already going,” I say. “But I’ll pay you back, of course.”
He dips his chin. “What kind of tacos do you like?”
“Get me whatever the most vegetarian thing they have is.”
His head cocks. “Themostvegetarian?”
“Least meat forward?”
