“Did you ask her about it?”
“Of course I fucking did,” Seb sighs.
“And, what did she say?”
“She said, ‘I’m fine’.”
“So what’s the problem?” I say.
“You better get versed in woman speak real soon, Raf,” comes a familiar voice from behind us.
We all turn to find Marco grinning at us like a Cheshire cat.
“When a woman says she’s fine, she is most definitely not fine. Trust me on that one.”
“Oh, thank you, Love God. I forgot you have a PhD in relationships these days,” mocks Seb.
“I didn’t realize you were in a relationship,” I say, raising my eyebrows at Seb.
“I’m pleading the fifth,” he counters before turning question time back on Marco. “What are you doing here, bro? Sophia will have your balls—and all of ours—in a vice if she knows you’re training.”
“I got the all-clear this week. Training and sex now back on the table—thank the Lord above,” he says, crossing himself.
“Please remind me to never eat on your table,” grumbles Luca.
“Who pissed in his Cheerios?” asks Marco, thumbing at Luca.
“Arabella,” Luca says.
“Ah. So she told you she’s left New York indefinitely?” asks Marco.
“Yep,” says Luca, popping the p as he lands a kick to the bag. “And that she needs space.”
“Listen, if you’re meant to be, life will bring you back together. Look at me and Sophia.”
“Well you two do kinda make it hard not to with your constant canoodling,” says Seb.
“Get used to it, brother. Tomorrow I’m making it official. On that note, you all better fix your faces. You look like a bunch of sad sacks. Mind you, I’m the one who took a bullet and hasn’t been able to get any in months.”
“As always, too much information,” I say.
“Well, Raf, if my information sources are correct, I believe you have an event in T-minus two hours and a certain pint-size devil who happens to be my cousin is your date.”
“Your point?” I ask.
“You two seem to be getting on well.” Marco smirks. “How’s that abstinence going? Or are we all going on a group excursion to the tattoo parlor.”
“I’ve got a whole Pinterest board of design inspiration if you need it,” says Seb.
“What the fuck is Pinterest?” I ask.
“Oh Raf, Raf, Raf. You have so much to learn,” Seb tuts.
“No, I have approximately forty-five minutes to punch the living shit out of that bag so I can survive a dinner I don’t want to fucking attend, when I’d much rather drink scotch and smoke my cigars in peace,” I say. “Now does that answer everyone’s questions? Good.”
“Does she call you Daddy?” asks Luca. “’Cause I can totally see it.”
“You’re insufferable.”
