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“No, he’s most certainly not,” I say, spinning Alex around and shoving him toward the front door.
“Pleasure to meet you, Alex,” Brett says casually as I close the door.
“Don’t say it,” I warn Brett as I walk over to grab my plate. I can already tell by the mischievous grin on his face that he’s got something brewing.
“I mean, you are seriously going to pass on that? Whew, that man looks exactly like the kind of man who could realign your back and get that third eye open in one go.”
“Well, I’ll let you keep that fantasy. Besides, even if I wanted to, who says he would be into me? I can guarantee you I’m not his type. His reputation among the guys is theplayboy.” I use air quotes.
“Oh, please, not into you? Look at you! You’re the type of woman that men like George Clooney marry . . . and men who aren’t George Clooneywishthey could marry. Just because you’re classy and have taste doesn’t mean you’re not someone’s type. It just usually means they know they can’t get you because you’re completely out of their league.”
“Well, thanks for that vote of confidence.” I smile, biting into my lobster pasta.
“And for the record, he’s very into you. I might be a gay man, but I saw the look he gave me when I opened the door. Seeing another man in your home was the last thing he was expecting.”
We enjoy our dinner and a few more healthy glasses of champagne. By the time Brett calls a car to head home, I’m feeling tipsy. I place our dirty dishes in the dishwasher and toss the empty champagne bottle in the recycling when I hear a soft knock at my front door. I pull the curtain back to see Alex standing on my porch.
“Here to yell at me again?” I smile, the warmth of the alcohol making me feel relaxed.
“Actually came to apologize.”
“Come in.” I step back, leaving the door open. He gives me a questioning look then steps over the threshold, closing the door behind him.
“Your date didn’t stay?”
“My date?” I turn around, realizing he’s referring to Brett. I’m about to laugh when I remember Brett saying he recognized the look on Alex’s face when he opened the door.
Was the look jealousy? Why do I care? Do I want him to be jealous? Ooh, I DO want him to be jealous.
“Oh, no, he went home.”
“Did you two meet through work?”
“No, college, actually.” I walk around the kitchen island, opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “You want something to drink?”
“I’m good. So you met back up through work?”
I shake my head as I take a long sip of cool water, hoping it tamps down my buzz. “No. We’ve always been in contact, close friends. When I moved to New York from Boston, we started hanging out again. He’s the one who brought the class-action lawsuit to me and put in a good word for me at his firm.” I take another sip as Alex runs his hand over his jaw.
“I guess I was wrong about you needing the vibrator then.” He smirks, leaning against the counter, and I can’t hold back my laugh any longer.
“We’re just friends.”
“Didn’t look like it that night in the parking garage.” I give him a questioning look. “The night you saw me, you two were pretty cozy as he walked you to your car.”
“He’s married, Alex.”
“Hasn’t stopped some people I know from fucking around when they’re in a committed relationship.”
“You’re joking, right?” Clearly he’s not. “Okay, well, I don’t know what personal situation you’re referring to that has clearly left you jaded, but he’s gay. How did you not notice him checking you out earlier?”
“Oh, he did?” He shrugs. “Guess I didn’t realize it.”
“But why would you care if he and I were together? Or if he did stay the night?”
“I don’t.” He looks down at his shoe as he runs it against the floor. This is the first time I think I’ve seen Alex uneasy, and it makes me want to tease him.
“Right,” I say as I walk by him, leaving just enough room that my arm brushes against his chest.
