“Sufriría una lesión una y otra vez por ti cualquier día,” Matt murmurs as he takes my hand in his and presses it to his cheek.
“Sí, baby.Sí,” I say. Damn it. I should’ve googled some Spanish phrases.
“Killer, you’re killing me!” one of the clowns moans.
“It wasn’t an invitation to watch,” I retort through gritted teeth.
“Then stop feeling him up,” Brandon mutters.
I spear the shithead with a look. “Really? The number of times I’ve had to listen to your tales ofthishot girl from a bar andthathot girl from Instagram.”
Thanks to social media influencers, finance bros have become a hot commodity. The irony is these men are often the smartest in the room, but they’re also idiots because they’ve bought into the finance bro hype. They see themselves as irresistible, like our job is all yachts and partying. In reality, it’s long hours in the office, with even longer hours glued to our phones at home staring at marketalerts, reading emails and texts, and dealing with phone calls from other time zones.
“Can’t be much of a relationship if you can barely communicate.” Brandon lounges back in his chair as he sends a glower Matt’s way.
“We say all we need to in other ways.”
“I didn’t think you meant it,” he mutters sourly. “That you were bringing someone.”
“And I’m supposed to care what you think?”
He glares at me as the others make a kind of whistling sound, like fifth graders in the schoolyard.
“What’d I miss?” Dipesh says loudly, coming to like a lip-smacking jack-in-the-box.
“Killer Queen brought a boyfriend.”
“The Spanish guy?” Dipesh asks, all wide-eyed drunkenness as he glances around the table as though trying to make out who is who.
“Yup.”
“How tall are you?” Dipesh squints across the table at Matt.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s seeing multiple Matts.Lucky for him.
“Is he taller than five feet six?” he persists.
“Don’t be a dick.” I glance around the table with a look of disgust.You assholes.
“He’s tall,” Jared eventually offers up. “Six two would be my guess.”
“And handsome,” Jamie says.
“And more to the point, he’s really Spanish,” Kyle adds.
Dipesh nods as though taking this all in. Then he jumps to his feet. “Yeah!” He begins to hammer his fists to his chest like a puny Tarzan. “I win, motherfuckers! Pay up!”
Matt catches my eye, his expression seeming to say,You have got to be kidding me.
Chapter 7
Matt
Sufriría una lesión una y otra vez por ti cualquier día.
It’s not every woman I’d offer to suffer a repetitive strain injury for.
By way of long-distance telephone sex.
