“Well, thank goodness she was honest with you,” I said. I thought about the way they acted around each other at dinner. One more thought kept gnawing at my mind. “Do you still sleep together?”
He frowned at me. “Did Google tell you that, too?”
I smiled. “No, but your body language the other night at the restaurant. You two seem very… chummy.”
“Chummy?” He grinned behind the cup. “Yes, we have remained chummy, but it’s very casual, and very occasional. We are not involved, if that’s the point of your questioning. I am but one in a long list of former beaus on Cassandra Leone’s dance card. Trust me, it’s not something I dwell on anymore.”
“So, you’re just fuck buddies now,” I said. I smiled and held out my empty cup for a refill.
“That’s enough about me,” he said as he refilled my cup. “Let’s talk about you and your fuck buddies.”
“I have no fuck buddies,” I said with a snort. “I’m a good Irish Catholic lass, remember?”
“Were you a good Irish Catholic lass a few hours ago?” he asked with a devious grin. “Come on, Katie O’Hara. Regale me with tales of your deviant past. Don’t make me Google you.”
That made me laugh. “If you Googled me you’d just get a blank screen with the word LOSER in big black letters,” I said. “Trust me, I’m not nearly as notorious as you.”
“Okay then, tell me something about you that I don’t know.”
“Like what?”
“Well, let’s see. I know that you’re a good Irish Catholic girl from South Boston. You come from a big family. You have a dad who owns a pub, and lots of brothers who would probably kill me if they knew what I was thinking right now.”
“That’s about all there is to know,” I said. “I’m pretty boring other than that.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. There is no more boring an ass on this beach than me.”
“Tell me about your first love,” he said.
“My first and only love was in the tenth grade,” I said. “I let him feel me up behind the bleachers during a basketball game and he told all his buddies about it. They all called me a slut, so I kicked him in the balls and moved on. End of story.”
“That’s not a very romantic story,” he said.
“It’s the best romantic story I have.”
He huffed. “Katie O’Hara, are you seriously telling me that you’ve never been in love?”
“Never,” I said.
“Not even in college or since you’ve been in New York?”
“Nope. Not even.”
“Christ, girl, have you been hiding under a rock? How have you never been in love.”
“I’ve been in extreme like,” I said. “But no, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love. I’ve been too busy focusing on my career.”
He nodded slowly, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to believe me. After a moment, he said, “Do you like being a lawyer?”
“I do like being a lawyer,” I said. “Do you like being an investment banker?”
“I do, but we’re talking about you now,” he said. “What do you like most about your work? And why did you go into contract law? Why not litigation or criminal defense? No offense, but contracts make my eyes go crossed.”
“I love contract law because everything is so cut and dried,” I said. “I thought about going into corporate litigation and criminal defense, but I didn’t like the kind of people that I would have to deal with on a daily basis. And I couldn’t defend anyone that I knew was guilty of a crime.”
“You mean like Bernie Madoff or Jordan Belfort?” he asked. “White collar criminals. Crooked bankers. Shady investment types like me.”