“Not just cock, good cock,” Harlow clarifies. “After all the shit you’ve been through, you deserve quality banging.”
“Speaking of,” Jess says, casting a sly look my way, “I think our boy is about to join the Quality Banging Club, too. I met Natalie today.”
“Oh my God, you did?” Harlow sucks in an excited breath, leaning in to brace her arms on her knees as she demands, “Details! I need them. Now! Is she smart? Gorgeous? Badass? Worthy of our bestie and his luscious man bod and tender mama’s boy feelings?”
“I’m not a mama’s boy,” I say, before sagging into the chair opposite Harlow’s, scrolling through the list of tuxedo shops I have yet to call.
“Right, I’ll remember that the next time you and your mom go to brunch and spend three hours gossiping over mimosas,” Harlow says, circling an urgent hand in the air. “Come on, Jessica. Information. Spill it. You know I hate being out of the loop.”
“She’s a winner,” Jess says, making my lips twitch in spite of myself. “Super cute, a total powerhouse in her chosen field, and really easy to talk to. She felt like a friend right away.”
“She’s a kindred spirit for sure,” I say, summoning a giddy squeal from Harlow.
“I’m so excited for you!” she says, clapping her hands.
“Don’t get too excited,” I say, still scrolling. “I may have to bow out of our first date. She invited me to some swanky fundraiser, but all the tuxedo shops in Manhattan are out of my size. I’ll have to start calling places in the Bronx when they open in the morning. But even if they have something that will fit, I don’t know if I’ll have time to get all the way up there before Friday night. We have training until six tomorrow.”
Harlow waves a breezy hand. “You’re not going to the Bronx. And you’re not going to cancel. We’ll go shopping tomorrow before your shift. I have a secret hidey hole for men’s vintage clothing now, too. I found it when Derrick was looking for a formal jacket for a fancy work dinner with the owners of his new team.” She rolls her eyes. “Though why people who named their team the Hissing Muskrats think they’re allowed to have a black-tie event is beyond me. They really need to rethink that name.”
“I like it,” Jess says. “And Hissy, the mascot, is a blast.”
Harlow’s lip curls. “The one who sprays water out of his fangs onto the crowd? You’re a fan of that grossness?”
Jess laughs as she fetches her laptop from between the couch cushions and stands, stretching one arm overhead. “Yeah. It’s fun.”
“Says the girl who doesn’t have to flat iron her hair to get the waves out,” Harlow says. “If that beastie ruins my blowout again, we’re going to rumble.”
“Valid,” Jess says, wandering toward her room. “I’m going to join the weirdos downstairs and go to bed toddler early. See you two in the morning.”
“Night,” I say, dropping my cell onto the wide arm of the chair as I glance Harlow’s way. “Thanks for the shopping help. You think we’ll be able to find something vintage that’s ‘Tall and Lanky’ friendly?”
“Of course,” she says, reaching for the remote. “And you’re not that lanky anymore, buddy. You’ve filled out in your old age. You’re a proper, buff stud muffin now. Though, speaking of toddler bedtimes…” She arches a brow. “Evie said this woman has a daughter. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
I nod. “Yeah, if it goes that far, I think I am. But it’s just a first date.”
“A first date with a woman you’re already calling a kindred spirit, and I know you don’t hand that title out lightly. And Jess liked her right away and Jess doesn’t like anyone.”
“That’s not true,” Jess calls from behind her closed bedroom door. “I just like very few people because people are the worst. Now stop talking about me so I can ignore you and go to sleep.”
I grin, lowering my voice as I say, “Yeah. I like her. There was this intense connection, right from the start. And I think she feels the same way.” I shrug. “But you know how quickly things can go wrong once…certain facts come to light. So, I’m trying not to get my hopes up.”
Harlow’s clever eyes narrow on mine. “So you haven’t had the V-card conversation yet?”
I shake my head.
She sighs. “Okay, then don’t! I’m telling you, and I’ve been telling you—there’s no reason to share your sex status unless you want to. You don’t owe her that information. All you owe her is orgasms and clear communication about whether or not you have transmissible crotch cooties. That’s it!”
I roll my eyes. “And I told you, I’m not comfortable with lying to someone I’m going to get naked with.”