“You’re interested,” Kip said. “Knew you would be. Why don’t I get us another round?” He’s on his feet walking toward the bar before I can even tell him no.
As long as I’m already neck-deep in this, I might as well dive in. So I leaf through the other stories in Kip’s folder. However, relatively few of them are about Jonah’s immediate family, and those that are mostly date from before the legal battle about Mrs. Hale’s sanity, or control of the company, whichever is really in dispute. Instead I see glossy, society-magazine stuff about the Hales’ charitable giving, an Architectural Digest story about the renovation of Redgrave House, that kind of thing. One article mentions Jonah as a “track star,” which I wouldn’t have guessed. Runners always seem so skinny. Jonah’s body would better suit a swimmer or a diver—lean but powerful.
The older articles focus on Redgrave House and what appear to be a centuries’ worth of screwed-up people who have lived inside it. Suicide pacts, sex scandals, an alleged haunting: You name it, it happened there. This is probably the most famous house in the world that no one would ever want to live in.
Enough, I decide. This comes too close to prying for me to be comfortable with it. The CNN stuff, okay, whatever—but the rest of this is Google overkill gone bad. Jonah has respected my privacy, and I’m ashamed not to have respected his.
Now I’d like to leave, never mind the second round, but Kip is by now deep in flirtation with the bartender. As I learn when my Corona is presented to me, this sexy bartender turns out to be named Ryan, and he’s the most interesting person Kip has met in forever so I have to stay to give Kip an excuse to hang around. I give Kip a look, but what the hell. I sigh, and drink my beer—slowly. Their mating dance continues for another half hour before Kip finally manages to get the guy’s digits.
The way he carries on as we walk out onto the street, you’d think Kip had won the Olympic decathlon. “Come on, Ryan’s hot. Scorching. Radioactive. And now he’s in my phone. Normally it would take any amount of sexy groveling on Grindr to get that far. ”
“Sure. Ryan’s gorgeous. ” Not my type, really—short, muscled, like lots of bodybuilders—but that hardly matters, since I’m not Ryan’s type either.
Kip pouts. “Why aren’t you celebrating my moment of glory?”
And there’s the opening I was looking for. “Because I try not to meddle in my friends’ love lives. Unlike some people. ”
“I wasn’t meddling. Simply making sure you were informed. ”
“How did you even know about—that I’d gone out with Jonah Marks? Whatever your barista source saw, it wasn’t even about that, so . . . ”
“I have other connections, as you should know. ” Kip’s omniscience is one of the great campus mysteries. “In this case, one of the earth science grad students mentioned that she’d seen the two of you standing rather close at Carmen’s last wingding. ”
Somebody witnessed my kiss with Jonah after all. “Kip—”
“No denials, Vivienne, please. They’re so tiresome. Just tell me why you’re trying to defrost that particular block of ice. ”
Ice? Maybe on the surface. Underneath, Jonah is pure fire. Not that I’m ever going to explain to Kip. “It’s not serious, okay? Can you leave it at that? With Shay and I being so close, and Jonah sort of being one of her bosses—we’d rather not advertise it. Could be awkward, you know?”
He doesn’t entirely believe me, I can tell, but he doesn’t ask any more questions. “Fine, fine. This fling of yours with Jonah Marks will be but one of the many secrets I keep. At least you’ve finally discovered the joys of casual sex. ”
I shrug noncommittally. Jonah and I aren’t in a relationship—but I wouldn’t call our arrangement casual. “Why did you go digging up all this stuff anyway? Just for the sake of gossip?” Kip’s all-encompassing curiosity has led him to snoop where he shouldn’t, but never before did I feel like he was being judgmental about someone. Yet he seems wary of my connection to Jonah.
“Because,” Kip says, “Jonah Marks is a cold man. And a hard man. He doesn’t make friends easily, if at all. Not exactly the right type for you. ”
“Since when do you know what my ‘type’ is or isn’t?” I ask.
“All I know is that you need someone who can be gentle with you. ” He sighs. “Because you have serious problems with conflict. ”
“No, I don’t—”