“Hey,” Ezra said casually.
“When did you get here?” I said. Clean-shaven, hair artfully tousled, and dressed elegantly in a navy-blue suit that turned his eyes cerulean, Ezra looked his part as the prince of the party. He grinned wolfishly, then gently nudged me into position like he hadn’t just crashed my solo shoot. My smile faltered, but Felipe didn’t seem to notice. The flashes intensified; photographers who’d been less interested in faceless donors and niche influencer types like myself were suddenly engaged by the arrival of a real celebrity.
“What are you doing?” I hissed through my smile.
“What do you mean?” Ezra teased. “I’m getting my picture taken.”
We’d taken photos like this together a thousand times on a hundred random carpets: for benefits and retirement parties, premieres and award shows. But this time, something was different. Maybe it was the placement of Ezra’s hands, just a touch too low on my waist, just a touch too firm to feel like an accident, or the angling of his body into me, the heat of his front radiating into my bare back.
“Is Josephine your date tonight, Ezra?” Felipe asked, stepping closer to get his perfect shot.
Ezra laughed, his touch on my back becoming a squeeze. Then, before I could comprehend what was happening, he pulled me against him fully, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice a rasp at the corner of my jaw. “You ask her.”
Heat rushed to my face, and I tore myself out of his hold, fighting back my fury as I stormed off the carpet. Felipe had definitely gotten that shot, and it was just juicy enough that I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist sharing it. God, what if Mal saw it before I could explain? I unsnapped my purse, pulling out my phone to furiously text him:If you see a photo anywhere of Ezra hugged up on me, no, I did not want him to do that.
I didn’t have to look behind me to know that Ezra had followed.
“Who are you texting?” he asked.
I glared up at him. “My boyfriend,” I informed him, tapping “send.” Mal responded instantly with:Next time he does something you don’t want, punch him. I’ll bail you out.“I’ve got to do damage control for that stunt you pulled back there.”
“Your boyfriend,” Ezra repeated. He tilted his head to the side, like he would perceive me better from an angle. “Is it the writer guy? Mom just bought rights to his book?”
“Yup,” I said, walking across the decadently decorated room toward the seating chart, Ezra trailing me like a shadow. As promised, Renata had put us back at the same table, but she’d also added Boris on as a buffer. Brilliant woman.
“Do you like him?” Ezra asked.
“Obviously,” I said, then softer, “very much.”
Ezra nodded sagely. Then: “Is he better-looking than me?”
I scowled. “Stop that,” I said.
“Stop what,” he said.
“Flirtingwith me,” I said. “You want to talk? Talk to me straight. Without all the fluff.”
Ezra’s smile dropped like I’d scraped it off.
“Sorry,” he said, waving away a waitress when she approached us with a tray of hors d’ouevres. “I just— You didn’t mind... before.”
The room was beginning to fill, guests in floor-length gowns and tuxedos crowding around the seating chart. The noise they created (clacks of heels against marble tile, boisterous greetings from people who had last seen one another at the previous year’s event, all layered on top of an orchestral rendition of Mariah Carey’s “We Belong Together”) was giving me a headache.
“I always minded,” I confessed.
“I didn’t know,” Ezra said softly.
I swallowed against a tight throat, knowing that he was telling the truth. Our friendship had been full of boundary blurring, and as much as I blamed Ezra for walking the line, I’d walked it alongside him. Whenever he reached for my hand, I’d held it. I’d let him fall asleep on my shoulder, agreed to be his interim plus-one in his short, rare periods of singlehood, fell asleep in his bed. When he told me he loved me, most times I said it back. And truthfully, I’d liked our closeness. Encouraged it. It was only recently that it had become unbearable.
“Let’s sit,” Ezra said.
We were early, our table unoccupied. It was close to the raised stage, across from an ornate podium, kitty-corner from the string quintet. Ever the gentleman, Ezra pulled out a chair for me, then turned his to face mine and dropped gracelessly into it.
“Do you remember when we first met?” he said, bracing himself on his knees.
“You mean, when you broke into my dorm room?” I said with a snort.
