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“He knows you’re dating Enzo,” Devon says as she walks away.
Like I give a shit about what that man knows. But I don’t say as much out loud. Devon doesn’t have a relationship with the sperm donor who helped create us, but he has talked to him a few times over the years, unlike me.
“And?” I ask between bites.
“He wanted me to talk to you about a loan.”
Devon has the grace to wince before I can even answer.
“You’re joking, right?”
He hurries to explain. “Apparently he had no idea Enzo and I are such good friends. When I told him I know Enzo as well as you . . .”
I nearly choke on an almond. The fact that our father doesn’t know Devon’s been tight with Enzo since the second grade is a pretty good example of why I want nothing to do with the man.
“He said it would be great if either of us could approach Enzo.”
“I hope you’re kidding. You aren’t actually thinking about asking Enzo for a loan for a man who abandoned you? Us,” I clarify.
Devon shakes his head. “No. That would be ludicrous.”
The first logical thing my brother has said all night.
He scratches his head. “But it’s not exactly a loan he’s asking for. He has a business venture, an idea he’s been working on for years, apparently. Some kind of natural health drink. So it’s more of an investment.”
I don’t dignify this discussion with words. Instead, I finish my salad, concentrating on the faint sound of Frank Sinatra’s crooning in the background. The DeLucas have some sort of unnatural fascination with the guy, Enzo included.
“So there. I told you. I promised him I’d at least do that.”
“And you did.”
Maybe that’s not the most tactful response, but I’m with my brother. I don’t have to be tactful.
“Do you know how many ‘investments’ Enzo gets pitched on a weekly basis? How could you even entertain the idea of helping that man, Devon? He cheated on Mom and then vanished, literally.”
Devon winces. “Unlike you, I don’t have it in me to hang up on him.”
“Actually, I only hung up on him once.”
Devon frowns. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Honestly, that’s it. I don’t expect you to talk to Enzo. I don’t plan to either. And I agree with you that it’s ballsy of him to ask. But I promised I’d mention it, and I did. So now we can move on.”
“That’s it? For real?”
Devon nods, smiling like a six-year-old on Christmas. “That’s it.”
I’m cautiously optimistic. “That was,” I hesitate, not one hundred percent sure Devon is finished, “fairly painless.”
“Told you. Want another drink?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I still have some papers to grade and don’t want to wait for an Angel pill.”
He gives me a look that tells me he’s not yet done with the serious stuff. “This won’t be the only request, you know.”
My stomach turns at the thought of it. “From Dad?”
