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“So, who do you hang out with here in the city?” Becky can be relentless with questions, especially when she’s fishing for info.
“Work guys. My friend, Roey.” He goes suddenly quiet.
I bet Roey dresses in sweatpants and hoodies and wears glasses, too.
“So, Roey is a local?” Becky pushes on.
“No, he’s my roommate from Costa Mesa.” Jace wipes the corner of his bottom lip with his thumb and doesn’t look up.
“Oh, but he’s here, in New York?”
She’ll drive Jace insane.
He looks almost curious when he lifts his eyes to Becky. There’s this genuine kindness about him, in the way he doesn’t react to Becky’s provocation, which is her weapon.
“I started working for him after the service,” Jace explains. “He’s in and out of the city for work.”
Becky keeps interrogating Jace.
He answers patiently. His calm confidence is magnetic, making me stare as I forget myself.
He’s definitely hot-cute. His dark-amber eyes catch the light and acquire specks of warm caramel. I wish his glasses didn’t hide them so much.
Becky asks about his hobbies, and Jace stalls for a moment like he’s trying to figure out how much to share.
“I’m taking online classes in building construction and carpentry.”
Becky’s eyebrow hitches in surprise. “Car-pen-try?”
“Natural material carpentry and self-sustaining spaces.”
“For what?”
“I want to build a self-sustaining jungle resort in the tropics.”
Becky looks at me like he said he wants to be a unicorn then turns to him. “And live like a recluse, or what?”
Jace smiles mysteriously.
“Leave him alone,” I snap at her. “Tea, Jace?”
“No, thank you.”
He collects our empty plates and walks to the open kitchen.
Pushkin follows him.
“He’s cute,” Becky whispers as Jace washes the plates, then excuses himself when his phone rings and disappears into his room. “If he wasn’t so quiet, he’d be hot. It’s in the attitude. Also in those glasses. He’s probably boring and considerate in bed.”
“B! What the hell?”
“I mean, just a theory. What do you think, Tito?”
Tito shrugs, elegantly swinging one leg over the other. “The quiet ones are the freakiest.”
There goes their usual guessing game, though they are better at it when they drink, occasionally getting so wrapped up in it that they pick up one-night stands for each other.
I roll my eyes. “He’s not your type, B.”
