By the time we get to dinner, I’m so strung out I’m practically vibrating. The VPs—and their plus-ones—are all meeting at this Italianate restaurant that’s meant to look like we’ve all come to accept an offer we can’t refuse. I love Vegas. It’s so ostentatiously tacky. But right now, with Gordo at my shoulder, I can’t even enjoy it.
Of course, the first people we see are Jake and Elias. They’re talking with Lachlan, who looks unhappy to have been cornered.
“Come on,” I say as I put a palm in the middle of Gordo’s back to guide him. The gesture feels awkward, but if we were really together, this is something I would do, isn’t it? Touch him, without feeling unsure, or that every eye in the room is on me?
For Gordo’s part, he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t lean into my hand, but he doesn’t move away either. I do my best to smile as we approach Lachlan and the others.
“Hey, guys!” I nearly say, “fancy meeting you here,” but this dinner is literally a planned retreat event, and also sounds too much like something Jake would say. So instead I go with, “Lachlan, you know Gordon, my . . . um . . . partner?”
Sure. Why not up the ante? Two days ago we were roommates. Yesterday we were boyfriends. Now I’m just grateful my suit jacket covers the perpetual half-chub I’m sporting, so why the hell shouldn’t we be partners? I can propose to him at the top of the fake Eiffel Tower across the street tomorrow.
Lachlan looks surprised as he takes in the two of us. Gordo says, “It’s nice to see you again,” like he’s used to making small talk at these corporate cocktail parties. Lachlan shakes his hand, but his gaze is on me, and if he outs me right now, I’ll murder him. The blood on the terrazzo floor will match the mafia ambience perfectly.
He says, “How was your afternoon?” and we chit chat about pools and poker for a bit. Gordo says something about the death ray, which makes Elias jumpy again, and I have to bite my lip at the renewed disappointment on Gordo’s face when no one seems as fascinated with the physics of it all as he is.
I say, “Don’t worry, babe. We’ll go see the horses, and you can tell me everything you know about the wild mustangs.”
“Horses?” Elias leans in. “What horses?”
I’m still trying to figure out if I liked the way “babe” felt on my tongue, so I don’t answer, but it doesn’t matter because Gordo launches into a whole monologue about mustangs and the Bureau of Land Management and the mythos of the American frontier. Elias looks rapt, and I’m annoyed that they seem to have something in common.
Jake must be too because he lifts up his empty glass and says, “I’m going to the bar. Bailey, Lachlan, we’re sitting together at dinner.”
He very definitely doesn’t use any question marks in that sentence. Lachlan and I both give matching smiles of false enthusiasm as Jake makes his way through the crowd. Gordo and Elias are chattering a mile a minute about horse racing in the Mongolian desert, and I honestly don’t understand half of what they’re saying.
I put a gentle hand on Gordo’s arm. “Do you want something to drink?”
He smiles at me and says, “Sure,” before he goes right back to talking with Elias.
Somehow, being dismissed by the man only pretending to be my boyfriend hurts more than I expect.
Lachlan and I head toward the bar—being careful to give Jake a wide berth—and when we’re far enough away, he takes hold of my elbow and pulls me into a corner where a small stone child pees gracefully into a fountain.
“What the hell?” I say, dodging the spray.
Lachlan’s eyes are huge. He says, “Isn’t that your roommate?”
“Shh!” I wave at him. “Keep it down.”
“You’re dating your roommate?”
I glare. Lachlan’s been under a lot of pressure lately, which is the only reason I give him any kind of pass. I say, “For the purposes of this weekend, yes. We’re dating.”
“Finally.”
I stumble back from the shock and the cherub rocks ominously, splattering my sleeve.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, he’s basically the only person you talk about.”
I glower. “Because I work too hard to have friends besides you.”
But Lachlan keeps talking like I haven’t said anything. “You’re always going on about his baking and his pets. Didn’t he make cricket cupcakes once? I thought you said he was straight.”
“He is!” My brain is reeling at the thought of insect cupcakes.
“He’s a lot better looking than you told me he was.”
“Hey!” I’m suddenly outraged on Gordo’s behalf. Also, when did I ever say he wasn’t good looking? His fashion sense is unconventional, but he’s got a great smile and big hands and a chest you can—
Ugh. Damn. Now I’m thinking about Gordo’s body again.
“Well, I wouldn’t say he’s unattractive,” I say carefully.
Lachlan shakes his head incredulously. “But you’re always talking about him like he’s some kind of stoner Betty Crocker who hangs around your condo all day.”
I try to make my shrug charming as I wheel Lachlan back around to the bar. “Turns out Gordon cleans up good.”
Lachlan’s still staring, even as we move forward. “Is he wearing a Redhill suit?”
“Trigani,” I say. “Bought it this morning.”
“Remind me what he does for a living?”
“He makes rocket engines at Rolls-Royce,” I say, because the best way to get through this weekend is to stick to at least one lie.
But I’m starting to wonder about Gordo’s real job myself. Something doesn’t add up, and it’s not only the way the suit fits him. It’s how he looks totally comfortable as I hand him a dry martini, while he talks with Jake and Elias, and doesn’t bat an eyelash when Ed Morton, CEO for all of BGS&M, comes over to say hi. I’ve never met the man and he cuts an intimidating figure, but Gordo keeps on talking like he’s used to this kind of glad-handing and folds Ed right into the conversation. I can hardly get him to string ten words together when we’re alone at home, but here, he’s the life of the party.
“Bailey,” he says excitedly as we sit down for dinner. “Elias invited us to come see the emus this summer. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
And yet, there is the roommate I know and lo— Shit, no. Somehow that word makes my brain go all staticky. I accidentally knock one of the six knives set next to my plate to the floor with a clatter.
“Sounds amazing,” I say weakly.
Spending another weekend with Jake and Elias sounds like torture.
Hell, spending tonight with them is torture. Jake slides into the open seat next to mine.
“Hey team,” he says with a toothy grin. “What’s on the menu?”
My skin crawls. I would shy away from him, but it would be A) obvious and B) force me closer to Gordo, and if I touch him again, I may decide to crawl into his lap and beg him to C) save me, D) kiss me, or E) take me right there on the table.
I’m so screwed.
8