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I lean toward him and whisper, “I’m ready for my first cocktail.”

Chapter thirty-nine

Night Out

Clint

Alby comes at us with both arms open, tan and loud and dressed in a salmon floral shirt that probably costs more than my first car. Brad stays at the high-top behind him, sunglasses still on even though the sun has mostly given up. They look like adjacent department-store racks. Cruise Casual and Resort Mischief.

Paul accepts the hug, but doesn’t exactly hug back.

“Alby,” he says.

“Oh, honey.” Alby pulls away with both hands still on Paul’s shoulders. “I am so sorry. I wanted to reach out again, but you know how it is. Words are useless.”

Paul’s smile appears. Not the house smile. This one is wallpaper.

“Thank you.”

“How are you holding up?”

Paul suppresses a flinch. “Better here.”

Alby laughs. “Hard to be sad in Puerto Vallarta.”

Paul doesn’t answer that.

Alby finally turns to me. His eyes move fast. Face, chest, arms, lower, back up again. Not even trying to be subtle. “And who is this lovely man?”

“Clint,” I say before Paul can answer.

I offer my hand. Alby takes it, but instead of shaking, he holds on and gives my bicep a squeeze like I’m produce he’s checking for ripeness.

“Well, Clint.” His smile gets wider. “Aren’t you a surprise?”

Paul shifts closer. Not in front of me exactly, but close enough that Alby lets go.

“Are we late for the show?” Paul asks.

“Plenty of time for another drink,” Alby says, and herds us toward the table.

Brad stands when we approach. He is quieter than Alby, which makes me like him for about six seconds.

“Well hello, sir,” he says, taking my hand.

Behind him, a younger Mexican guy leans against the table, built like he was assembled from gym equipment. His hand rests on Brad’s shoulder until Brad casually covers it with his own.

“This is Mateo,” Alby says, hooking a finger into the waistband of Mateo’s tight shorts and tugging him closer. “He’s keeping us company over the winter.”

Mateo smiles. “Hola.”

I almost answer, but his eyes are already somewhere else.

Alby gestures at me with his drink. “And this is Paul’s friend Clint.”

Friend gets stretched out like cheap elastic.

Brad’s hand lands on my knee under the table and his thumb starts moving. I cross my leg until his hand slithers off me like a snake.