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Oh, God. Bill was English. As in, Jude Law, Hugh Grant, Jason Statham, take-me-right-now English. I always loved that accent. It was classy as fuck and hotter than hell.
There I was, caught between two of the hottest men I’d ever had the opportunity to speak to, so I did what any woman would do. I groaned…loudly. “Just my luck. You’re so totally gay. Damn. That’s so unfair.”
For a moment, I’d been worried I might’ve offended them, but when I lifted my eyes to face them, they were both grinning. Hooking an arm through mine, Terry dragged me toward their apartment, leaving Bill in the hall. As soon as we crossed the threshold, Terry called back to Bill, “Shit, we are keeping this one. I love her already.”
Before I knew it, I was on my second glass of wine and laughing at one of the many escapades of Bill and Terry. Snorting, we all laughed harder. I covered my mouth and admitted, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m normally so uneasy around men.”
Bill’s lip quirked. “I’m guessing it’s partly because of the booze, and partly because we’re queer, darling.” He tilted his head as he studied me. “Sort of like a safety blanket for you, I’d think. No risk, you know. Easy peasy.”
Just then, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out and read the email from Quinn. Smiling like a loon, and partly drunk, I confessed to my new friends, “Sorry. There’s this guy I kind of like, and we’ve been flirting a lot over the past day or so.”
Terry clapped and squeaked, “Tell me all about it. I love gossip.”
Bill sipped his wine way too gently for a gigantic man. “He does, darling. Go on. Spoil him.”
I choked then. I couldn’t tell them what I was doing. They’d think I was a freak. I played it off a little too casually. With a shrug, I leaned back in my chair and muttered a bored, “He’s just a guy.”
Terry and Bill locked eyes. And I began to sweat. They were onto me.
Terry muttered, “This is serious.”
Bill responded just as quietly, “I don’t know what just happened.”
I fumbled and squawked, “No. No serious. No anything. It’s nothing.”
Terry, acting like a friend of many years, rather than a friend of a single afternoon, gave me a stern ‘dad’ face. “Who is he?”
I tried to reply, but nothing came out. My mouth opened and closed, like that of a fish out of water, before my shoulders slumped and I caved. “My brother’s best friend.”
While Terry groaned, Bill winced, and my stomach churned. No more wine. Bill started with, “That’s fire there, sweetness. You sure you want to get burned?”
Terry added sympathetically with a nod, “That might be something you want to avoid, honey.”
I was sure they were right, but I still had to ask, albeit pathetically, “But why?”
Terry picked up my hand and kissed it. “Because he’s forbidden fruit. That’s probably why you want him.”
Picking up my phone, I opened the full-length shot of Matt Quinn in only a towel with dew all over his body, the one I had downloaded from the DFT website. Holding my phone up to both of them, I watched their eyes widen and their jaws drop.
Bill barked out a laugh. “Well, fuck me. That might just be worth destroying your brother’s best friendship for.”
Terry, who had begun fanning himself, rolled his eyes in ecstasy. “Oh, Lord, he is divine. I approve, a hundred times over. Sheesh, I need to ice my balls.” Then he dug, “So, he’s like a model or something?”
I pursed my lips, lifted my head in thought, and then nodded. “Or something.”
I spent another hour with Bill and Terry just shooting the breeze then went home, showered, and fell asleep without responding to Quinn’s email.
As soon as I woke the next morning, I responded to Quinn. In a sleepy haze, I typed.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Running + wine = sleep
Most forgiving Quinn,
I wish I had a great excuse for not responding to you last night. And I kind of do.
I met my new neighbors. They shoved wine down my throat and killed me with kindness. Then I showered and passed out.
In response to your questions, I studied event management with a minor in journalism, and I would choose being alone on the beach than in a crowded city any day of the week.
I would ask you questions, but I can’t think because I’m still in bed, so I’ll just ask something basic.
What is your favorite color?
Holla,
Maya
I yawned and stretched under the covers. I wasn’t ready to vacate the soft fluffiness that was my bed. Not just yet anyway. I still had a week before I started work at Addison Ltd, a highly sought after events management company booked a year in advance. What made Addison Ltd so great was that we—the event planners—travelled, which meant we not only had to have an extensive knowledge of the landmarks in our home cities, but also in other cities. We could book an event in any other city as easily as we could in our own. That was what made Addison Ltd.
I couldn’t believe they hired me.
Well…okay, I could.
I hadn’t spent four years working my ass off, studying in the solitude of my stuffy dorm room for nothing. There was a reason I was top of my class, every class.
Just as I started to fall asleep again, the loud chirp of my cell’s notifications rang in my ear. “Shit!”
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Running + wine = sleep.
Maya, Maya, Maya,
All will be forgiven if you can answer me one question…
What are you wearing?
Suffering from an attack of morning wood,
Quinn x
I looked down at myself before responding.
; To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: Running + wine = sleep
Quinn,
A black silken teddy with lace and frill.
Sexy and I know it,
Maya
I smirked at my response, knowing Quinn would know I was lying. So when my phone chirped again and I read the reply, I laughed. Loudly.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: RE: Running + wine = sleep.
Maya is a lie-a,
Give it to me straight.
What am I working with, doll?
Help me out here,
Quinn is a pervert x
I grinned, and with another quick glance at my attire, I found myself being honest.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Running + wine = sleep
Sir Quinn,
You got me. Honesty this time.
I’m wearing an old, baggy white threadbare t-shirt that I have slept in for years. It’s tattered and ugly, and absolutely perfect.
Lady Maya
I smiled until I got a response.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Interesting.
I like it.
Is that the real you, Maya?
Loving the less than lovable things in the world?
