“You have to remember they started off small. I think everyone here sees it as a family business, so the vibe is low-key even though the money is insane.”
“I really want to work here,” Tyson says.
“Then I better let you get to work before my dad starts to wonder where you are.” I step aside, but before he passes me, I put my hand out.
It lands on his chest, and he turns to me with a cocked eyebrow.
I don’t know what’s come over me, but I find myself blurting, “Do you want to go out with me on Friday night? I contacted some old friends from high school, and they’re all going to this club … I thought … if you want, that is. No pressure.”
“What are your high school friends like?”
“Hockey players.”
“Are they cool like the CU team or douchey like UVM’s?”
I mock gasp. “You’re a traitor to your own kind?”
“Hey, UVM is by far the better school than CU, but hockey-wise, I’m going to choose the queer-friendly team. Thank you.”
“Hmm, well, I can’t agree with you there that UVM is in any way better than CU, but I can give you that the UVM hockey team sucks.”
Tyson dramatically sighs. “It’s official. We’re star-crossed lovers doomed to be torn apart by our loyalty to our alma maters. We’re the modern-day Romeo and Juliet.”
“We should off ourselves now and save time.”
Mitch’s voice comes from the entryway. “Gianni. Now.”
“Duty calls.” I get to the door when Tyson stops me.
“Gian? I’ll go out with you.”
The smile doesn’t leave my face the rest of the day.
* * *
Tyson and I eat lunch in the break room, but I realize my error in bringing him food—I don’t get to go back to his apartment. The next day, he and Dad work through lunch. Then on Friday, Mitch and I do.
Concentrating on numbers and stock values and taking in all the information I can on portfolios and bonds is really, really hard when I know Tyson’s in the next room.
I can’t wait for tonight, and I’m half tempted to blow off the guys from high school so I can take Tyson somewhere else. Like an actual date.
That might be weird though. We agreed to be friends. But who said friends can’t hook up?
I swing by Dad’s office after Mitch releases me from my duties.
He looks up at me from his desk. “Ready to go home?”
“I’m actually going out tonight with some of the guys from high school. I’ll go from here. But I did want to steal Tyson. He doesn’t have any friends in the city, so I thought I’d introduce him around.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Dad says.
It’s really not. I just want any excuse to see Tyson outside of work. I adjust my backpack on my shoulder and nod.
“You’re free to go, Tyson.”
Tyson stands.
“Oh, and good work today,” Dad adds. “I’ll be sure to let the partners know how well you’re doing, considering it’s only your first week.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Robert is fine. Don’t call me sir.”
I lean in. “Dad thinks sir makes him sound old, but if you want to get under his skin, call him Roberto. He hates it.”
“Gianni,” Dad warns.
“Hey, why is it okay for you to change your name to Robert, but if I suggest changing my name to John, you and Mom start swearing at me in Italian?”
“Don’t change your name,” Tyson says. “Giovanni Rossi sounds like an important person. John Rossi sounds … average.”
“Thank you,” Dad says. “See, Tyson gets it. Now go have fun, you two.”
I definitely plan to.
Tyson follows me out to the elevators, and he hits the call button. “Are we going out this early? I had planned to primp and, you know, not wear a suit.”
“I figured we can go out to dinner first, meet up with the guys for drinks, and then I can either Uber home, or someone I work with who lives nearby can let me crash at his place.” Could I be any more obvious?
“You totally mean on my couch, right?” His voice hitches. “Like friends.”
“Of course I mean couch. Where else could I even be talking about?” My lips twitch as I try to suppress a smile.
“Well, I don’t need to drink to be awesome, but if you want to get shitfaced, you’re more than welcome to sleep on my … couch.” The elevator arrives, and as we get on, he leans in close. “And, if you decide to stay mostly sober, you might even get an upgrade to sleep in my bed.”
I have to bite back a groan, but I know Tyson hears the squeak at the back of my throat because he playfully nudges me.
When we hit street level, we exit the tall-ass glass building and head for the shitty side of the freeway.
“Do you really hate your name?” Tyson asks.