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But in the light of day, that reasoning doesn’t hold up.That’s flimsy and trivial compared to a friendship that’s real and true. Best to focus on that.
Tate came to me when he passed the bar. I took a chance on him when I ran my own venture firm, farming out smaller contracts. He proved his mettle. When Nick and I recently merged our firms into Strong Ventures, I told my brother we were now one of Tate’s clients.
End of story.
He’s my lawyer. He does my deals.
“Should be a busy week as we put the next steps in motion,” he says, as we reach the cart. “And hey, coffee’s on me as a thanks.”
Nope. That’s not happening. “I got this.” It’s a small thing. But there is no way he’s paying for the coffee after I slept with his daughter and bought her panties.
After we order, we head to a bench with our cups and review the week ahead.
We have our friendship. Our athletic goals. Our business partnership.
We don’t need to discuss my after-dark affairs.
Ever.
* * *
“And then, with his trusty mutt by his side, Captain Dog and Captain Dude walked off into the sunset, having saved the city one more time,” I say, reading the final page in a graphic novel Zach and I picked up this afternoon at An Open Book.
I’m glad the story is over, because it’s hard reading in the cramped quarters of the tree house.
“Can I have one more story?” he asks, his young voice laced with hope. “I want to know what happens next.” He sits up taller, his green eyes flickering wildly. “Or maybe we can get a dog like Captain Dude has?”
Oh fuck.
Oh hell.
What am I going to do with that request?
Nick warned me this day would come.Someday he will ask for a dog, and you will be so screwed.It was months ago, when Zach was caught up in playing with a Border Collie in Central Park.
I ruffle Zach’s hair, steering away from the tempting topic. I too love dogs. “How about that story, kiddo? But I’ll read it to you when you’re in bed.” I sit up, unfolding from the pretzel shape I’ve been in these last few hours.
I built the tree house so Zach could have what he wants, and fine, to flex my dad muscles. But I didn’t anticipate how much time he would want to spend here or how uncomfortable it would be for a grown man to wedge himself into a tiny tree house.
Already today we’ve made a baking-soda-powered rocket, and we’ve worked our way through a stack of comics. But the light is waning and bed is calling.
And my limbs are groaning as I make my way out of the tree house, Zach scrambling down after me.
Once inside the brownstone, he motors through the kitchen, racing to the fridge and yanking open the door. “I’m still hungry. Can I have more pineapple?”
I refuse to think of Jules. I have pineapple for Zach. That is what I tell myself.
“Of course, buddy,” I say, then I grab the container, scoop some tropical fruit into a bowl, and join him at the counter. My thoughts don’t linger on what I did at this counter yesterday morning, or on the pair of pink panties I ripped off of Jules’s beautiful body, or the fact that they’re in my nightstand drawer.
As Zach eats, we talk about our plans for the next few days and how much he can’t wait to go camping with my dad and mom in a few weeks. They’re taking him to upstate New York on a trip, along with their other grandson. Nick’s son is twenty-two, but David loves the outdoors, so he’s up for family camping.
“We’ll need to stock up on camping supplies,” I say. I’m glad that Zach has embraced my parents as hisnew grandpa and new grandma. I want him to know as much of his family as possible.
“Like graham crackers, marshmallows, and chocolate,” he says after swallowing the last bite of the fruit.
“What other camping supplies are there?” I ask.
“A dog,” he says with a glint in his eyes.
