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I start mentally calculating how far I am from the knife block in the kitchen. Before I can decide whether to run for the door or the knives, the manspeaks.
"Remember the day senior year when Hunter let live chickens into my apartment and we had to wait for animal control to collect them? I always thought that was the longest day ever. I take it back. Today was the longest dayever.”
His familiar voice has me sagging inrelief.
I reach past him and hit the light switch, the overhead light flooding us in a warm glow and softshadows.
“You scared the hell out of me,” I accuse. “You said you weren’tcoming.”
The door swings shut behind him, his suit jacket following the strong lines of his shoulders, his chest as he yanks off the tie and drops it on the table by thedoor.
Despite the clothes, he doesn’t look like some Ivy League prep. He looks like a lion someone thought they could tame. As if he could act polite, follow every social nicety when it gets him what he wants, but underneath, he’sruthless.
Ben frowns, perplexed as I take in the black overnight bag resting at his feet, the key he holds. “I said I missed my flight," he corrects. "When I messaged you, I’d already paid a guy for his seat on another one. When was the last time one of us missed thisnight?”
My heart squeezes. “Never.”
Ben reaches into his bag and pulls out a T-shirt and a bottle of tequila, then passes me the bottle before shrugging out of thejacket.
He walks past me into the bathroom. The water runs for a moment, thenstops.
I pour the tequila into two glasses, then go get the Xbox out of the linen closet and hook it up while hechanges.
Ben has more money than he can count, and I have more equity than most entrepreneurs my age. New York rules say we should be out on the town, wining and dining. And we do—all week long. Ben for his venture capital firm, me for mybusiness.
This is what we do to recover fromthat.
Is it weird?Maybe.
But it’s cheaper thantherapy.
I consider changing, but the bathroom door’s already opening. My friend tugs the hem of his fresh white T-shirt down to the belt on his Armani pants as heemerges.
Sorry,Marc.
I sit my ass on the floor in front of my couch, tugging down the dress that rides uphigh.
Ben takes his dress shirt to his bag by the door and returns, then he slides down next to me and grabs the controller I’ve set out for him and thetequila.
“The inventors of Duo deserve amedal.”
His low, rumbling voice has me smirking. “You just like the excuse to play Fortnite as a grownman.”
“Don’t question my masculinity,” he drawls. “This is two-thousand-dollartequila.”
I cut him a look. “I didn’t realize spending some people’s mortgage payment on a bottle of alcohol made youlegit.”
Ben has steady brown eyes that see far too much, a sharp jaw, strong nose, and carved lips that make you want to trace them with a finger to see if there's any give atall.
Now, those lips curve in a wry grin as he clinks his glass to mine. I drain mine and set it on thetable.
“That was meant to be enjoyed,” hesays.
“Trust me, I enjoyed it. I lost a big client, but it’s fine.” I take a deep breath, lifting the controller and navigating through menus as I get us set to play. “Ready?” I ask, and henods.
We spend a few minutes getting into the gameplay. We’ve done the opening enough before that we don’t even need to talk, our cooperative strategy is sosynced.
Eventually I say, “I’m pitching Richard Vane Monday. His new chain of couples-onlyretreats.”
