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“Maybe a little.”
I put my index finger close to my thumb, and there’s barely a hair’s breadth between them.
“Are you competitive?”
“You should ask—”
Fuck. Well, he can’t ask Laura.
“Laura? I got the impression she’s the highly competitive one.”
“We both are. Most people consider me the sweet one of the two of us. That’s only because Laura makes it very clear where she stands along with everyone who comes near her. I’m more of a honey than vinegar. People assume I’m the sweet one, so they underestimate me. It lowers people’s guard and lets me learn about them before we face off, either in court or over a boardroom table.”
He watches me as I speak, and I know my tone changed. It became the harder one I use as a lawyer. It doesn’t seem to turn him off. Just the opposite. He picks up our drinks and takes a sip of his. Satisfied that it isn’t still too hot, he hands me mine. I think some people might see this as — I don’t know — babying me or something. Maybe controlling. I see it as him being considerate. I like that he cares enough to make sure I don’t burn my mouth. I like that he’s willing to risk burning his to protect me. That’s not right. I don’t want him to get hurt. I appreciate that he’s willing to risk it to protect me. We sip our drinks in silence for a few moments. The companionable silence is nice while I savor the spicy taste. It’s as close to coffee as I get.
“Did you grow up in the city or New Jersey like Laura?”
It shouldn’t surprise me that he knows where Laura grew up, but it does. How much digging did they do when she entered Maks’s life? I’m her best friend. Did I come up in their searches? Does he already know but is making small talk?
“Jersey. She and I met in elementary school and became inseparable. She went to Princeton for undergrad, and I went to Harvard. Like I said, we’re both competitive. I might have been a bit smug when I got my Harvard acceptance, and she had to settle — I use air quotes — for Princeton. We went to law school together and were roommates for three years.”
Does he already know that?
“Piccolina, I am not asking questions I already know the answer to. I know you’re Laura’s friend because I saw you at the wedding reception. I’ve seen you in passing at a few other events, but I genuinely want to get to know you. I’m not matching your answers against intelligence someone in my family gathered.”
“Where’d you go to school?”
“Rutgers for computer science and MIT for accounting. I know most people think that’s backwards.”
“I think either way is impressive. My undergrad was in finance, so I have a little understanding of accounting. But computer science sounds way more challenging than understanding puts and options. Do you build your own computers?”
“I can.”
He seems to hedge with that answer. I wait for more, but he’s not forthcoming.
“Enzo, I won’t take whatever you tell me and run straight to Laura and Maks.”
“I know. And Maks has known me for years. Sergei and Anton love nothing more than to remind me that they both went to an Ivy League for computer science. Ionlywent to Rutgers and MIT.”
“There’s nothing to sniff about either of them, and MIT speaks for itself.”
“Yes, and when it does, it doesn’t say, ‘I’m an Ivy League.’”
I could see how rival families are intellectual snobs toward one another. Somehow, that makes complete sense. I know Maks and Aleks went into the — uh — family business straight out of high school and didn’t get to go to college. But the others did, and they all went to Ivy or Top Tier schools. They all did it on their own merit, too. I get the feeling it’s the same for Lorenzo’s family.
“For what it’s worth, I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.”
The moment lightens, and we move on to talk about other things from our childhood. I tell him about my older brothers. Sam, my oldest, died in combat six years ago. Right after I graduated from law school. Steven, the misunderstood middle child, is a stockbroker. He’s what they made 1980s movies about. Young, hot, charismatic, and driven. My sister, Elizabeth, should have been the oldest for how organized and bossy she can be. She’s an interior designer and loves everything just so. My parents are both practically corporate raiders. I could not do what they do. Look at stock prices and building prices all day. No, thank you. I learn Lorenzo’s father is an attorney, and his mother works in finance and accounting too. I don’t realize how late it is until the barista comes to stand next to me, ignoring Lorenzo, and says they’re closing. He offers to take my empty cup and leans a little too close for even my comfort.
“Babe, hand me your cup. He can take yours, too.”
I reach for Lorenzo’s, and our fingers brush. I wink at him. I know I was rude by referring to the guy as “he” when he was standing right there, but now I get what Lorenzo meant earlier. I hand it over and barely mumble thanks. Lorenzo offers me his hand after he stands. He helps me up and pulls me against him. Fuck. He’s hard — all over — and all I want to do is rub against him like a cat in heat. He can tell because his hand rests low on my waist.
“I could get used to hearing you call me that.”
“I want to hear you call mepiccolinaagain.”
