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I fix her with a look.
“Like how old? In their twenties? That’s fine, but I think Harrison is twenty, so he qualifies, right?”
Romy shakes her head, her blonde curls bouncing.
“No, Pipes, I like themrealold these days.”
“Twenty-five?” I query, one eyebrow raised. “Or even thirty?”
Romy giggles and flaps her hand at me.
“No, you’re so unimaginative, Piper! I like them in their forties.”
I gasp because forty is old, sort of. I mean, of course there are handsome, virile men in their forties, but we don’t interact with any forty-year-old men in a romantic way. Yet something’s boiling under the surface, and I shoot my buddy a curious look.
“Do you have someone in mind, Romy? Are you dating someone that you haven’t told me about?” I ask in a slow tone.
She shrugs and gets a secretive smile on her glossy lips.
“Maybe.”
I gasp and stare at her.
“OMG, you have to tell me! Who is he? But wow, forty. Yeah, that’s kind of up there.”
“I didn’t say forty, Piper,” my friend says in a lofty tone. “I saidforties. For your information, he’s forty-five already.”
My jaw drops.
“Seriously?”
Piper flaps her hand at me again.
“Don’t be so shocked, girlfriend. Men are very virile at forty-five, and I’d even go so far to say that some men are hitting their peak at that age. I mean, they’re powerful, they’re on their game, and they’ve been around the block a few times. So yeah, I’m attracted to real men, and not these silly boys who love to play puppy dog.”
I nod, squinting a little.
“Yes, but who is it? And how did you meet him?”
Romy looks around, although we’re alone in her bedroom at home. Then she leans forward, aquamarine eyes dancing.
“It’s George,” she whispers. “Don’t tell anyone.”
I cock my head to the side.
“I don’t know any Georges,” I say in a slow tone. “Does he go to Fairlawn? Or is he at Atherton? St. George’s Prep?”
“No, because he’s forty-five!” she squeals. “What forty-five-year-old guy is still in high school? No, it’sGeorge! You know, my stepdad George.”
That makes me go silent as I stare at her.
“You’re shitting me.”
But my friend merely shrugs, unconcerned.
“No, I’m not. You know that my mom skipped out on us a while back. I have no idea where Camilla is now, and frankly, I don’t care either. But when she first left, I was a mess and George was there for me. We grew close over time, and at some point, there was an attraction.”
I stare at my friend again.
