“It’s not that Irefuse—”
“You do too.”
“Christ, Max. It embarrasses me, all right?”
“Why?” He nudged my shoulder with his own. “I mean, seriously, Seb. You don’t mind me knowing. Beth is practically your dealer.”
“I told Neil,” I mumbled into my scarf.
“You told Crankypants Millett? What’d he say?”
“Huh.”
“What?”
I stopped beside a tree and let Dillon do his business. I glanced at Max and said, “Neil saidhuh.”
“He’s got such a way with words,” Max said with a shake of his head. But then he pointed at me with a gloved hand. “Why won’t you tell your husband?”
“Max—”
“Come on.”
“I don’t know,” I said, hearing the frustration starting to grow in my tone. “It’s… it’s not the actual genre that embarrasses me. I’ve read some great stories. I’m proud of those authors. But there’s the social stigma.”
“Streaking has a social stigma too,” Max pointed out. “I’ve still done it. Twice, actually.”
I ignored that and finished with, “I’ve been laughed at enough in my life. I don’t need to give society another reason.”
“Fuck the Man,” Max protested.
I looked at him.
“‘The Man’ in this context is society.”
“I got it.”
We started walking again, and when we reached the end of the block, Max said, “I say this because I love you, boss, but when you’ve gotten your head out of your ass, let me know the dates you’ll be gone. Oh. Also, I read somewhere that St. Louis is famous for this cake called the gooey butter or something? Smuggle one back for me, and I won’t even ask for time and a half for having to work alone.”
I spared Max a look and tried to not sound overly interested while asking, “They’re famous for cake?”
“St. Louis-style pizza, too.”
“The fuck isSt. Louis-style pizza?”
I unlocked the door to 4B, crouched to unclasp Dillon’s leash, then stepped inside. I put my glasses on, set the messenger bag on the floor, and hung my coat and scarf on the rack.
“Hey, baby,” Calvin called from the loft.
“Hey,” I answered. I moved to the table-for-two and set my keys aside, fished the stupid flyer from my back pocket and smacked it down, then dropped the mail on top of it. “You’re home early.”
“Are you complaining?” Calvin answered, his voice near the closet on the opposite end of the room.
“Nope. Are you naked?”
I heard him chuckle. “Not anymore.”
“Lame.” I walked down the hall and entered the kitchen. I heard Calvin come down the stairs as I opened the fridge, fetched a beer, and popped the top off. “Remind me to call the electric company tomorrow,” I said between long pulls.
