“Not technically.”
Jesus, this kid is worse than I was at his age, and I remember being a huge pain in the ass when I was an intern—but I don’t think I would have sat and hassled a senior designer.
“You need to know when you’re wearing out your welcome.”
“I do, but you’re being passive-aggressive and I’m taking advantage of your weakness.”
“I’m being passive-aggressive?”
“Yes. Davis would have told me point-blank to get the fuck out.”
Alex Davis is my peer, a talented architect, and quiet as a church mouse. No way in hell does he say things like ‘Get the fuck out.’
“He talks like that?”
“Sometimes, yeah—when he’s trying to get stuff done.”
“Okay, well in that case, get the fuck out.”
Taylor tilts his head. “It doesn’t have the same impact when you say it.”
“Get out!”
I need to be alone with this new information about Abbott. Answer a few emails, text a few people back.
I have my eye on a few acres in the country, just outside of town, for the four-wheeler I’m going to win once I’m the last man standing in this bet.
Which reminds me—I should see if the guys are free to get together for a drink at some point soon. Real soon.
I make a note on a sticky and slap it on the wall above my desk.
Taylor is hovering.
“Why are you still here?”
He chews on a fingernail. “Just checking to see if there was anything else you needed? Help doing some basic math, perhaps an estimate? A calculation or two…study for the spelling test?”
I present him with my back.
“How about a coffee run, then?”
This perks me up and, resigned, my shoulders sag. “Medium iced coffee?”
“On it.” I hear him retreating.
“Hey Taylor?”
He pauses, footpads halting on the carpet.
“Thanks.”
He smiles. I can’t see it, but I can hear it in his steps as he bounds away.
Ugh. I hate when I’m nice…
“How’s it been going?”
Phillip is the first person to speak when our asses are seated around our favorite table in The Basement, three cigars tucked inside the breast pocket of his sport coat, drinks already ordered.
We’re all still dressed for work, having come straight from our offices, one week after the conception of the BBS.
“Shitty. My boss is being a fucker,” Blaine bitches, studying a menu, eyes skimming the appetizers.
“Maybe he just needs to get laid,” Phillip suggests, pulling the cigars out and setting them in the center of the table.
Blaine laughs. “He’s got to be in his sixties—no way is he getting laid.”
“Trust me,” I argue, siding with Phillip on this issue, “that dude is getting laid. He’s rich, drives a Bentley, and has a penthouse on the water.”
“What do women call those?” Phillip stares up toward the ceiling, searching for the proper term. “Silver foxes?”
Blaine’s face contorts. “Dudes, shut the fuck up.”
I throw my hands up in surrender. Don’t shoot the messenger. “I’m being serious. You’re probably getting less action than he is.”
“That makes me want to throw up in my mouth. Think about how shriveled up his dick is.”
“No, no—think about how shriveled your dick is going to look when you’re his age,” I suggest.
“My dick is never going to be shriveled!” Blaine pronounces, a bit too loudly for a guy who’s still completely sober.
“Yeah, you’re probably right—your dick is way too small to shrink. Did it actually fit inside Bambi?” I rub my chin, pondering.
“Fuck. You.”
Not gonna lie, I’ve seen Blaine’s dick, and it’s embarrassingly small for a guy who claims to have fucked his way through the city.
“You should call your finance guy and invest in penis pumps—they always say you should invest in things you believe in and would use.”
He scowls, slouching lower into his red, velvet-covered chair. “I hate you both.”
“No you don’t,” I tell him matter-of-factly. “You hate your pee-pee.”
“Can you please stop talking to me about my dick like I’m a child?”
Phillip sighs. “Fine. Let’s talk club business.”
“It’s a society,” I remind him, fully aware that my reminder is annoying and unnecessary. I’m right; they both glare.
“What I was saying was—I have something for you guys.”
Blaine and I both lean forward because Blaine and I both like presents, watching, spellbound when Phillip reaches behind his chair and produces a brown paper bag.
“What’s with the shopping bag?” Blaine immediately asks, impatient. As if we’re going to be kept in suspense all night.
I shush him, excited.
“Who’s ready to see the smoking jackets?” Phillip asks, giving the paper bag a few squeezes. It makes a crinkling sound, squishing everything inside.
I scowl, not wanting my shit wrinkled, while Blaine enthuses, “Jackets already? Dang, I thought it would take a few weeks!” He reaches over and punches me in the forearm. “Maybe Lisbeth has a secret thing for you after all.”
Phillip glares. “Shut the fuck up about that. He’s not sleeping with my sister.”
“Unlesss she wanted to sleep with me. Then I’d definitely bang her.”
“No one is banging anyone in my family, you got it?”
“No.”
“Do you want your fucking jacket?”
“Yes.”
“Then shut the fuck up about it.”
I cross my arms, pouting. “Fine.”
“Now, as I was saying—”
“Drumroll please!” Blaine cannot contain himself, rolling his tongue and banging on the table with his index fingers like he’s playing a set of drums.
The suspense is killing him.
“I want to punch you in the vagina so hard right now,” Phillip threatens, all the wind sucked out of his sails.
I pop a walnut in my mouth and chew. “Now now, girls, violence is never the answer.”
“Do you assholes want to see the jackets or not? Because I’m not going to sit here and—”
“Oh calm down,” Blaine interjects. “You’re so damn sensitive. Hurry up and show us. I’m tired of waiting.”
If Phillip could shank someone with his eyes, Blaine would be dead on the ground, bleeding from a stab wound to the rib cage with no one to resuscitate him.
The brown paper bag sits on our friend’s lap, stapled shut at the top and mocking us. This is the reason we’re here—these jackets. This comradery. This group.
“I feel so much freer now that I don’t have to worry about dating,” my friend says, breaking the seal on the bag and peering inside. “These are so fucking cool.”
“Didn’t you check them out already?”
“Yeah, I was wearing mine last night,” he admits.
“What the fuck!”
“What? I couldn’t help it. Lisbeth had them shipped two-day air, and I couldn’t resist.” He lifts the first one out and strokes the velvet fabric. “They’re so pretty.”