Cool hair, dramatic fashion sense, love of music and deep thinking, and examining the written word.
They try to include me, really, but they can talk about Garbage for four hours straight. Whereas I tap out around yeah, I really like that song I'm Only Happy When it Rains.
"It goes beyond despise, all the way to loathe?" he asks.
"Is loathe really worse than despise?"
"You tell me."
"I don't dislike them."
"But you don't want them here?" He pushes his palm into my lower back. "Are you going to tell me? Or should we sit?"
I don't want to sit. I want to talk with him. I want to feel all the heat of his hand. "There's nothing to tell."
He raises a brow really.
"It's not that interesting."
"Then tell me."
That's a pretty good point. "Why?"
"Conversation."
And to keep him here, with me, with his hand on my back. "If you tell me something."
"Nothing to tell."
I copy his really expression.
"Okay. My gossip for yours."
"Mine isn't gossip. It's just… a way I feel."
He motions go on.
"Yours is gossip?"
He nods. "About Ian and Eve."
"What about them?"
"Ty makes Ian look like a boy scout."
"So… Ian is much better with knots?" I ask.
Cam chuckles. "Wasn't my best metaphor."
"It was a simile, but yeah, I'm not sure either is your strong suit."
His smile widens. "It's about sex. Do I really have to sell you?"
No. I want to know the gossip. And I want to sit with him and talk with him and maybe even tell him my secrets. Just not this one. It's embarrassing. "If you buy me a drink."
"You don't look twenty-one."
"Isn't everyone in the world wrapped around your finger?"
"Only the women."
"You're so obnoxious."
He smiles. "You like it."
"No."
"Yes. But I'll let the lie slide this time."
I flip him off.
He smiles wider. "You're cute angry."
"You're… still obnoxious."
"Which of them do you dislike?" He presses his palm into my lower back to lead me to the bar.
"I didn't agree."
He stops at the bar and holds out his hand. "Mine for yours."
"Plus the drink."
He nods.
I shake.
He turns to the bartender, asks him to fix two aviations. Whatever that is.
The bartender eyes me suspiciously then Cam hands him a hundred-dollar bill and the guy nods sure, sir, whatever you'd like.
Cam turns to me. "Is it Ian?"
"He does have that obnoxiousness you have."
"Which you like."
Kind of. "He and Ty have a good rapport. And he knows soccer."
Cam studies my expression. "That's all you talk about? Football?"
"He's like a hundred years old. What else would we have in common?"
"His girlfriend is what, six months older than you?"
"A year," I say.
"She's young though," he says.
"So?"
"You don't approve?"
"No. I don't care." I mean, it's weird that Ian is twice his girlfriend's age, but Ty is almost ten years older than Indigo and they're obviously meant to be. And Cam is way older than I am. I can't really object.
He nods. "You like Ian."
"Sure."
"But not Eve?"
"No." My voice strains. "She's great."
He chuckles. "Yes. You're a big fan."
"She is. Really, really, great."
"And such specificity."
"I can be specific."
He motions go on.
I freeze.
Cam's laugh gets louder. "I guess we found it."
"No, I… she's smart." I need more. "Stylish. Intellectual. Really, very intellectual."
"You appreciate that trait?"
"What's that mean?"
"You don't like art."
"Only the definition of art that doesn't include Ninety Day Fiancée."
He smiles. "Is that why you don't like her? Because she's—"
"A snob?"
His smile widens gotcha.
Fuck. I might as well write it on my forehead.
The bartender interrupts with our drinks. Light purple liquid in a cocktail glass. A maraschino cherry on each rim. "Two aviations."
He pushes the drinks to us. Heads to the other end of the bar to talk to a pretty redhead in a cream dress.
"This is a hotel, right?" I ask.
"Is that all it is? That she's pretentious?" He ignores my attempt to deflect.
"You think so too?"
"No, but I can see why you would."
"What does that mean?" My cheeks flame.
"You have different taste."
Yes, I'm the lowbrow one who doesn't appreciate lyrics.
"You shouldn't feel bad about it."
Whatever, I'm not talking about it. "Do you think she's a professional?"
"Who?"
I motion to the woman at the end of the bar. She's pretty, as far as I can tell from here, but that's not why I suspect her. It's the short dress (sexy but clearly expensive), the sky high heels (ditto), the perfect retro waves.
It's her smile too. Like she's inviting us to sit and chat and see where it goes.
"Probably." Cam doesn't take my bait. "Is that it?"
"What?"
"You think she's a whore?"
"Why would I think that?"
"Because Ian paid for her virginity."
What?
He…
She…
No.
I try to pick my jaw from the floor. "How much?"
"A lot."
"What's a lot to you?"
"A lot to anyone." He reaches for his drink. "You didn't know?"
I shake my head.
"Then I didn't say anything."
"Is that your promised gossip?"
"No, but since you didn't know, I'm counting it."
"Not fair."
"Life isn't fair."
"What if I tell Ty?"
"Tell him what?"
"That you're a huge gossip."