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The hostess seats us by a window glazed with the recent February thaws and vengeful refreezes, leaving behind a basket of warm bread and olive oil.
I grab a piece, tear it in half, and stick the smaller half in my mouth.
“Oh my God, this is good.” The words are out of my mouth before I’m done chewing it.
“They’re starving you too?”
“Nah, dinner’s just usually the only real meal I have time to eat,” I tell her.
“Maybe you should talk to Maggot or at least HR about that. You should be able to eat, Brina.”
I grin. “Don’t call my boyfriend Maggot.”
“Boyfriend?” Paige’s jaw drops. “You mean you...and him...holy shit. So that’s why you haven’t been home? I should’ve guessed. You look different.”
“Different how?” I scan the dining room to make sure no one else is paying attention to us. “Lower your voice. It’s kind of a secret.”
“I don’t know. Your face looks like...someone who gets a lot of screaming orgasms?” She bats her eyes.
I give back a death glare, even if she’s right on the money.
Her face grows serious. From the furrow in her forehead, I know I’m not going to like what comes next. “He’s your secret boyfriend, though? Whose idea was that?”
The server comes to our table. Thank God.
I have a few seconds to form a response, but let’s be real, there’s only one that makes sense.
“What are we drinking today?” the server asks.
“San Pellegrino, please,” I say.
“Make it two,” Paige chimes in.
“I’m ready to order,” I say, buying precious time.
Paige picks up the menu and studies it.
“Do you have lunch right now or just brunch?” I ask.
“We have brunch and the lunch menu,” the waitress tells me.
“Fettuccini Alfredo with a Caesar side salad,” I say.
“I’ll do French toast with Italian cream,” Paige says, licking her chops.
“Perfect, I’ll be right back with the drinks.” The server walks away.
“Where were we? Oh yeah—whose idea was this secret tryst?” Paige asks again, not skipping a beat, leaning forward with her chin perched on her hands.
I purse my lips. “I—well, the relationship just happened.”
She nods. “Of course. You wanted him from the second you met.”
“Did not! I spit on him, Paige, remember?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Did your mama ever tap the enemies to lovers trope? That’s you and Mr. Sex-In-A-Suit. You hated each other’s guts and now you’re knocking boots. How’d you reel him in?”
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts.
“I didn’t seduce him in the office like a bad adult flick if that’s what you’re thinking. I played it cool. He actually pissed me off to the core for a long time after that Arizona kiss...”
“Dude. You have no cool.”
I laugh at her deadpan delivery.
“Okay, well, it just happened. Organically. We tried to keep apart, but it was magnetic...then this big crisis came up, the one I mentioned to you before, and after that...” I trail off, my mind reeling.
How do I even explain my whole universe shifting in just two months?
“Blah blah blah, crisis. And then?” Paige asks.
“And what?” I squint in confusion.
The waitress comes back and sets a bottle of sparkling water next to each of us, and this time, I really hope she’ll distract Paige. I’m done with the interrogation.
I can’t help thinking I’ve done something wrong.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“We’re good,” Paige says.
“Your food will be out shortly.” She moves to the table behind us.
“So you slept with him when he was all wounded beastie. That’s hot.” Damn. The girl has a mind like a steel trap. “Was it like, a one-time thing?”
I glare at her. “I wouldn’t have said boyfriend if it was a fling. Going to his place was all necessity, at first. He needed me.”
“What? That kid you mentioned?” Her eyes go wide.
“Yeah. Mag’s half brother’s mother was attacked. She’s been in ICU the whole time, in a coma. We’ve been taking care of his little brother, and I’ve been covering for him at work.”
“And covering his dick at home?”
I scowl at her.
“I mean, really. You take care of him at work and at home. I hope you’re getting paid double in more than just Romeo dick,” Paige says, her smile telling me her fantasies are off the hook.
“It’s not like that. He’s coming into the office most days now. He just leaves when Jordan gets out of school, which I understand. I only had to be him all day for about a week, and my salary is two hundred thousand dollars a year, so I’m okay with stepping up.”
“You’re basically living with the guy and taking care of his kid—”
“It’s not his kid,” I say. “And it’s temporary. His mom’s waking up at some point...so they say.”
A knot tightens in my stomach. Every week that passes without her snapping out of the coma worries us a little more, and worries the doctors, even if they don’t say it.
