Page 80 of All Our Nevers

The quirk of his brow tells me we’re in complete agreement about that particular feature.

“He owns this place. Everyone in the Boston art scene kisses his ass, even though he’s really a prick with more money than taste.”

Owen flashes another glance over his shoulder—less subtle this time—then whispers to me, “He looks like a fish and a thumb had a baby.”

And I can’t help it—I laugh out loud. My hand claps over my mouth a beat too late and I hiss, “I know! His eyes are so far apart it looks like he has 360-degree vision.”

“And the goatee? Are you fucking kidding me, dude? What year is it?”

“But Owen.” I put on my innocent doe-eyes to deliver my next joke as dryly as possible. “If he didn’t have a goatee, how would his fellow pedophiles know he also likes building model trains?”

Owen snorts so hard the Old Fashioned comes out of his nose, dribbling onto his light blue button-up, and that sends me through the stratosphere. I’m doubled over laughing until he pulls me around the corner to give us more distance from our victim.

“We’re going to hell,” Owen says as he catches his breath, wiping a drop of liquor from the corner of his mouth.

“Then we might as well make ourselves comfortable,” I reply. “You know who else I hate in this room?”

“Please tell me.”

“Okay, there’s a couple at my seven o’clock—don’t look! Be subtle about it. Their names are both Pat. Pat and Pat.”

His eyes slowly shift behind me, focusing on the middle distance before flashing back in alarm. “Amelia. They look like siblings.”

“I know!” My claws dig into his arm. “And they didn’t always! Since they started dating, Pat O. cut their hair really short and Pat G. switched from glasses to contacts and now they’re basically identical.”

“You did not just call them Pat O. and Pat G. like we’re in first grade.”

“How else am I supposed to distinguish them?”

He glances over my shoulder again, then suggests, “Balding Pat and Nose Ring Pat?”

My laugh is rough and bright. “They actually both have nose rings, Pat O. must just have it out today.”

Owen shakes his head. “Horrible. Maybe you should just publicly declare one your favorite, and that can be Pat Number One and the other will be Pat Number Two.”

“And what if I hate both of them equally?”

Owen takes a half step closer to me, and the prickling at the back of my neck suggests it’s because Pat and Pat are getting closer. I hope they are. I hope they get so close that he has to hold me and whisper straight in my ear, lick the words down my neck before we make our escape.

“Mmmm,” he muses, hand on my hip. “This game would be a lot easier if I could stare openly at them.”

“Stare at your own risk, my guy. It’s like Medusa. Anyone who makes direct eye contact with Pat O. will smell like patchouli for the rest of time.”

A spark of amusement flickers in his eyes. “Pat-chouli? Get it?”

My laugh pulls me forward, forehead falling against his shoulder. “Okay Pat O. is Patchouli from now on.”

“And I’m sorry but I still think you should call Pat G. Balding Pat.”

“That’s not nearly as punny.” My hands keep finding their way to his chest, the broad strength of it through his neatly ironed shirt.

“Maybe just Patchy? Like Pat-chy?” he suggests.

My eyes are locked on his. “You are so mean.”

“So are you.” His hand moves to my lower back. “Now will you please show me where your art is, so I can tell you that you’re also hot and talented?”

I nod to the left and he follows obediently. I note as we walk, “It’s weird that you know all about my hobbies and work but I barely know anything about yours.”