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“It’s different when you live together, you can have sex in every room, at any time of the day, whenever one of you feels horny.”
She laughs harder.
“Truth be told, I love the idea of a live-in cock,” she says. “And I’m grateful my latest obsession is attached to a normal man and not a freak or an asshole. I swear, I savored a bottle of champagne the day after Oscar asked me to move in with him as I was gleefully deleting my profile from all those dating websites. God, how dreadful. No more bad dates—Shit. I’m sorry, Ari. That was insensitive of me.”
“Not at all,” I say. “I don’t intend on having a profile on any dating or casual hookup sites. I can live without the headache. Statistically, you have less than a one percent chance of meeting someone who isn’t carrying a plane full of luggage.”
Okay, that’s a fly by the pants rationale since I haven’t Googled the data, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“I won’t argue with you. Online dating makes you seriously consider joining a nunnery. I was this close.” We both laugh. Phoebe has a trunk full of freaky stories. “It’s much better to meet a guy the old-fashioned way.” There’s a smile in her voice. Not surprising.
After months of striking out with unsuitable—and often, horrible—matches, Phoebe met her Peruvian boyfriend, Oscar Alcóver, at the bar he owns.
“Oh no, that door is closed shut,” I say. “I’m so not going down that road any time soon.”
Case in point, my roomie. Sure, the man is unbelievably hot, but he’s a man. And that right there is a big strike against him.
“I thought coming back to California was about new beginnings—a renewal.”
“It is. Career wise,” I say.
“It can’t only be about work, Ari.”
“According to Cosmo—”
“You’re so left brained and factual, why do you keep doing those illogical fashion magazine quizzes?”
“They’re my guilty pleasure,” I remind her. “Not to mention, I needed a pick-me-up after this morning’s trauma.”
“What happened?”
“I was trapped in an elevator for over an hour on my way up to a meeting with prospective clients.”
“That’s terrible.”
“It was a freaky experience.”
“Were you alone?”
“I wasn’t.”
Nope. I’m not telling her about my sexy roomie clad in a perfectly cut suit with ocean-blue eyes you could lose yourself in. It would only give her false hope. Since it’s unlikely I’ll ever see him again, why go there? Not that I’m interested or anything.
“Thank God.”
“I know.”
As much as I hate to admit it, the man’s presence was comforting. Without him, I would’ve freaked out.
“How was the meeting in the end?”
“It never happened.”
“Were they pissed off you were late?”
“Once the elevators were working again, I raced to the meeting, mortified by my tardiness. The prospects weren’t at the office.”
“How come?”
