He grinned when he saw me, wide and reckless. “There he is. The responsible one.”
“I’m late,” I said, sliding into the booth across from him. “You’re early.”
“I’m eager,” he countered, lifting his glass. “You should try it sometime.”
I signaled the bartender for something uncomplicated and watched him instead. Ezra had my family’s dark hair and sharp features, but where I was controlled, he was frayed around the edges. His eyes always looked like they were watching something no one else could see.
“What are we drinking to?” I asked.
“Survival,” he said lightly. “Same as always.”
That wasn’t a joke.
We talked about nothing for a while. Work. Clients. A mutual acquaintance who’d self-destructed in a way that was almost impressive. Ezra drank like he could outrun his own thoughts, each glass emptied faster than the last.
Eventually he leaned back, studying me with a crooked smile.
“So,” he said. “You look like hell. In a tragic, but still handsome way.”
“Thanks,” I replied dryly. “I work hard to look this good.”
“Sure you do.” He took another swallow. “We should do something about it.”
“Do what?”
“Find ourselves a pretty girl,” he said. “Or three. Rent the penthouse somewhere. Make a night of it. You know.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Recreational forgetting.”
I stared at him for a beat.
“No.”
The word came out calm. Absolute.
Ezra blinked. “No?” The echo of disbelief in his voice was enough to make me shake my head.
“No.”
He tilted his head, squinting at me like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “Sincewhen?”
“Since always.”
“That’s not true,” he said, frowning. “You used to?—”
“I know what I used to do,” I cut in. “I don’t want that.” It was alsonotme anymore.
Ezra’s grin faded, replaced by something tired and strangely wounded. “You’re telling me you don’t want beautiful women and a hotel suite with a view?”
“I’m telling you I don’t want anyone who isn’t her.”
He stared at me, bleary and searching. “That girl,” he said. “Photographer.”
“Yes.”
There was a long silence between us, filled only by the noise of the bar and the clink of his glass against the table.
“Man,” Ezra murmured, almost sadly. “You’re screwed.”
“Probably.”
