“You never had to.”
Again, his honesty puts me off balance. “Do I have to now?”
He shifts from foot to foot, and I can tell he’s contemplating.
“We can go to a bar,” I offer. “We won’t be alone there.”
“I’m sober,” he says. “Four years.”
Almost the entire time since I’ve seen him last.
“Me too,” I say. “Well, two for me.”
“Only two?” He raises a brow. “You were sober last time I saw you.”
This time, I’m the one who can’t meet his eye. “Shit happens.”
People pass us on the sidewalk, a group with big shopping bags bumping their legs at every step, laughing like those are the biggest burdens they carry.
“But that’s actually great to hear,” I say to Duke. “I’m really happy for you. I don’t know why I said the bar. I wasn’t going to drink, if that’s what you think, now that I said two years.”
He cocks his head, an old familiar smirk playing over those maddening lips of his. “Are you nervous?”
“No,” I say, scowling at him. “Why would I be nervous?”
“I don’t know,” he says, smiling wider. “Why are you?”
“I’m not,” I say, but I can’t help but smile back. “But come on, we can get a bite to eat.”
“You think you’re getting into a restaurant at seven o’clock on Christmas Eve eve? Without a reservation?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t live here. Surely you can pull some strings. Aren’t you a big shot around here? Don’t tell me you don’t have a table on reserve somewhere. Or hell, slip a maître de some cash and show me how the great Duke Dolce lives it up.”
“You think I’m great?” he asks, an edge of cockiness creeping into his smile. “Guess you always were obsessed with me. I shouldn’t be surprised you haven’t changed. You look exactly the same.”
“You look… Different,” I say honestly, looking him up and down. He was always huge, always one of the only guys taller than me in high school. He was always muscular and fucking gorgeous too, with that glossy black hair and that plump lower lip that drove me to distraction. But he looks better, somehow. Maybe it’s the sobriety, or the fact that he doesn’t look like he’s ready to knock my teeth down my throat, or that his eyes are no longer haunted and desperate, churning with a mixture of dread and fury and abject terror.
“You might have a few more piercings than last time I saw you,” he says. “Aren’t you a little old for all that metal in your face?”
“Okay, grandpa,” I say, shaking my head. “We’re twenty-five, not fifty.”
“Speak for yourself, old man,” he says. “I’m only twenty-four.”
“Well, damn,” I say. “We better get you to a piercing parlor before you’re too old for a couple holes in your eyebrow.”
“Why mess with perfection?” he asks, gesturing at the Greek god jawline, cheekbones, and square chin in front of me.
“Can’t argue there,” I say. “Wouldn’t want to fuck up that pretty face of yours.”
He smiles, then gives a quick nod before turning on his heel and starting down the street, past the big wreaths and twinkling lights decorating every lamp post. At the corner, he turns back and looks over his shoulder at me.
“Well, don’t just stand there like an idiot,” he calls.
I jog to catch up, ignoring the swoop in my stomach. I thought he was done, that he was walking away. But he waited.
He stands hunched against the wind, hands shoved in the pockets of that nice ass coat. When I catch up, he nods down a side street. “Come on,” he says. “I know a place we can go.”
two
