“Don’t be dramatic. It doesn’t suit you,” Francesca coos as she walks to him and straightens his bow tie.
He lets her, arching his neck. “I’m about to undergo torture by a man-eater. For you, MissLane. I’d hardly call me dramatic. Perhaps if you’d been home last night, you could have come up with a solution to get me out of this predicament.” He pats her arm. “Of course, you could end my suffering with just a few sentences.” He gives her a meaningful look, and she brushes her lips over his cheek, then whispers something in his ear.
He rears back. “Youaremy business, young lady, and I want what’s best for you. Communication is key. Stop pussyfooting around!”
He stomps off, and Francesca sighs as we walk inside her apartment.
“What was that?” I ask as I shut the door.
“Nothing really.”
“Nice place,” I murmur as I take in her art, the colorful decor. It’s small but cozy and warm, and her view of the park is spectacular.
I follow her as she goes into the kitchen, stares at the coffeepot for a few moments, pours a cup, takes a long drink, and then groans in relief. I offered her coffee at my place earlier, and she said no.
“Is there something special about your coffee?” I ask.
“I just don’t indulge often, but ...” She shrugs. “Anyway, Darden is upset about joining the book club. It might be my fault.”
Before I can ask more questions, Brogan comes out from where I guess is his bedroom. Wearing pajama pants and an NYU sweatshirt, he gives me an incredulous, almost happy look, then laughs. “Morning! Good to see you, Tuck—you know, outside of Decadence.”
“And there’s no British accent,” I say as we clasp hands.
“Morning. Fancy a cuppa?” He grins as he moves to pour a mug for himself, then puts in sugar.
“Sure.”
She tells us she needs to get dressed as Brogan and I chat about Decadence and the Vegas game.
“What are you guys up to today?” he asks as he gets me a cup of coffee.
“She wants to show me her favorite place.”
Brogan’s eyebrows rise. “Oh shit.” A small laugh comes from him. “Where do you think it is?”
“In New York? I figured we’re going to a museum or a gallery.”
He shakes his head. “Here’s the thing about Francesca. She’s tough, but there’s a sappy side ...” He smirks. “Meh, I’ll let her show you the place.”
I inch closer. “Is she gonna take me to the Empire State Building for a kiss?”
He smiles slowly. “Not telling, but know this: she’s readThe Notebookand would have loved to be part of that book club but doesn’t like Widow Carnes.”
“Do I need to read this book?”
He laughs. “Maybe. But she loves that stuff. Ever seeTitanic?”
“God, no.”
“Right? She has. A hundred times. Just because I’m gay, they want to foist it on me.” He flexes a bicep at me. “I’m a tough guy who enjoys thrillers and horror, but they force movies on me.The Last of the Mohicans,To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before,La La Land,The Fault in Our Stars. Sad shit. Her and Cece—Jesus, it’s a wonder I haven’t started a menstrual cycle living here.”
“You said you lovedThe Last of the Mohicans!” Francesca calls from down the hall.
“I said I liked the booming orchestra music!” Brogan calls back, then half smiles, half grimaces. “She’s got bionic ears.”
“So she’s taking me to the cinema to watch her favorite movie?”
“Worse. At least she won’t be making you go to the catacombs under Saint Paul’s. She cornered us into that one night. Freaky as hell. She loves all the tourist tours in the city.” He pauses. “So, um, did you guys talk?”