Page 8 of Sexy

“Got it,” I say with a nod, finally managing to pull myself together.

“Goodnight then, Tiffy.” He leans down and kisses me on the cheek like he’s done a hundred times before. I have been holding my breath ever since the very first time he did it, hoping it would progress into something more. Like a real date. Not a business meeting, or a working lunch, or even one of the many corporate parties we’ve attended together. A relationship.

But Cole must be the most patient guy in the world. Because that innocent cheek kiss has never strayed. Much to my dismay.

“Good night, Cole,” I whisper softly as he leaves my room.

“Oh my gawd,” Claudio says with a dramatic wave of his hand in front of my face. “I’m gonna throw up if I have to keep watching this desperate plight of yours. He’s not interested in you, honey. That kiss will never change. He thinks of you like a sister.”

“Just stop, OK? He does not think of me like a sister. He just hasn’t had a chance to see the grown-up me, that’s all.”

“Pathetic,” Claudio says, bouncing his ass down on the couch and kicking his Jimmy Choos up on the glass-top coffee table. “You’re pathetic. Trotting around like a bitch in heat. That man is not interested. I mean, what good is a gay friend if you don’t trust his manstincts?”

“Manstincts? Really?” He is always making these ridiculous frankenwords.

“What?” Claudio says, giving me one of those famous smirks that make men melt. “It’s a good one. And it applies,” he says, closing his eyes and lifting his face up like he’s so superior. He feels superior the way most people feel hungry. Three to six times a day. “Because I know what I’m talking about. I see what you cannot. Cole is not interested in you.”

“Oh,” I say, plopping down on the couch next to him with my drink. He always makes me feel better. “And you’re the expert in what straight men want, I suppose.” I wrap my hand around his biceps and curl into his chest.

He wraps his arm around my shoulder and starts playing with my hair. “I am, Tiffy. Give up on Cole, please. It hurts my heart to think you might waste your life on that guy. He’s all wrong for you. He’s not even straight.”

“Liar,” I hiss softly into his suit coat. “You say that all the time, but even my gaydar knows he’s into women. Besides, I’ve seen him date a few. He’s not gay.”

Claudio sighs. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But a guy can hope.”

I pull away and look up at him.

“No, no, no, you sweet idiot! I’m not interested in him! He’s portly.”

I giggle. “He’s not portly. He’s muscular.”

“OK, slightly chubby.”

“Asshole. I like him like that.”

“Pfft. No. He’s not one of those giant men. You know, the big and tall guys. I call them linebackers. Those guys are hunky.”

“Right? I totally agree.”

“Cole isn’t on the football team, Tiffy. He’s that nerdy kid who wants to run the film projector.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Now, that Fletcher. Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmm. He’s better than a linebacker. He’s like a combination of linebacker and tight-end. Yeah,” Claudio says, still playing with my hair. “Fletcher Novak is a tightbacker. I’d like to get a look at his back end, that’s for sure.”

“Perv. And that guy is not better than Cole. Not at all. He’s a stripper, for Pete’s sake.”

“Mm-hmm. Exactly.”

I giggle, thankful that Claudio and I have been a team since we graduated college four years ago. He wasn’t interested in grad school, but my father said I needed an assistant, and Claudio was more than happy to step in and run my life. I love him for it too. He’s more than my assistant though. He’s been my best friend since high school. We’ve been inseparable since the ninth grade and as soon as I finished my MBA two years ago, my father hired me as a junior account executive and I kept Claudio. I run fourteen hotel accounts in Northern California and Nevada, and Claudio is my right-hand man.

But he’s wrong about this Novak guy. I can see through Fletcher Novak a mile away. He’s a player. And I hate players. He’s also a slut. I hate them too. And a stripper? Please. Who wants to date a stripper? I mean, I get watching them for a few hours. But date one? No way.

“OK, toots, I gotta hit the sack. I’m gonna have so much fodder for my wet dreams.”

“Gross, Claudio! No!”

He pushes me off him and gets up laughing. “Night, babycakes. Sleep tight.” He turns back to me and winks. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you when you dream about the stripper instead of the spare tire.”