We're just looking down on the streets of Midtown, right? So why the fuck is my cock twitching?
Do I want to fuck Drake right here?
I mean don't get me wrong. I'm not gay. I think I proved that to you pretty conclusively the other day with Natalie.
But just because I'm not gay doesn't mean that I can't appreciate man meat.
And if I have to be honest, I'll be the first to admit to you that Drake Carlton is a remarkable specimen of man. He has a great fucking body. He's got the confidence of--
"I want to talk to you about two days ago," Drake says, turning to me and not wasting any more words. "You know I didn't come all the way up here to look down at the view with you. But I appreciate that you didn't rush me, Sloane," Drake says.
I decide to just stare at him and let him continue.
"We've had our differences, you and I," Drake says. "But what happened the other day has taken this to a whole different level."
Well, that's the understatement of the fucking century.
I sigh, and gesture toward the sofa next to the window. Drake nods and sits down. I sit on the leather chair across from the sofa.
"We've been at each other's throats for a long time, Drake," I say to him, and he nods. "I think I'm a fucking venture capitalist because I hated you."
"There's a lot of anger to go around, Sloane," Drake says to me. "I made my share of mistakes."
And that's when it fucking hits me.
You know how sometimes you're just sitting there or talking to someone and they say or do something and it's a stupid insignificant thing, but it sort of puts everything into fucking perspective?
Scientists and behavioral psychologists call it an epiphany.
I call it an 'oh shit' moment.
And that's just what Drake has done to me right now.
See, he made mistakes. He just admitted he made mistakes.
"Drake," I say slowly. He looks at me. "You made a lot of mistakes."
Drake nods his head. He doesn't grimace, but he's quiet.
"I want you to know, I loved Meredith," he says to me. "I loved your mother with all my fucking heart."
I don't say anything.
"After she died, I don't know what happened, but I should've never married Linda," he says to me. "I know you didn't approve, but I didn't care."
It's not that I didn't approve.
Fuck.
Could it be that I didn't want to share?
Did I maybe want Drake to myself?
"I can't fault you now for marrying Linda, man," I say to him. "Otherwise, I would've never met Natalie."
That makes us both pause.
Natalie Vanderhill.