Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Dustin slides me a gin and tonic without my having to ask and I sip it gratefully while Diego cleans the spilled beer with a mop and bucket. I’ve never seen him actually get his hands dirty before—normally, he’s just sitting around smiling, laughing, and talking shit, but that was a terrifying side of him I hadn’t expected.
He joins me when he finishes mopping up and Dustin hands him a whiskey. “You sure you’re good?” Diego asks me.
“Really, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.”
“He would’ve though.”
“Thanks for stepping in, but really, I’m fine.”
He looks at me for a long moment and shrugs. “Whatever you say. Calvino would kill me if I let his pet get hurt.”
My jaw tightens as I sip my drink to cover my frustration. “Is that why you helped me? Because of Calvino?”
“Mostly, yeah. Otherwise I’d let the lazy-ass bouncer do his job.”
“You’d let some drunk asshole beat down Kia and you wouldn’t intervene because she’s not with Calvino?”
He gives me a long, frowning glare, and shrugs. “Guess so.”
“You’re all just a bunch of assholes then.”
“Assholes flock together it seems.”
“What is with you and Calvino, anyway? How do you know each other?”
“We met in boarding school.” He sips his drink and stares into the glass like he’s remembering something from a long time ago and doesn’t like it.
I let out a sharp laugh. “Boarding school? Are you kidding me? You and Calvino went to boarding school like two little rich English schoolboys or something?”
“Yes, we did,” he says with a deep sigh. “And yes, it was exactly like what you’re thinking, a little school up in New England with lots of trees, angry headmasters, teachers that hate themselves and all their students, and a bunch of boys eager to get in trouble. Calvino saved me from a particularly nasty fellow that wanted to smash my teeth because I smiled too much and because my parents are Cuban and are therefore communists. Calvino kicked the fat asshole in the balls and smashed a toilet seat over his head. Nearly got thrown out. We’ve been friends ever since.”
I lean back and study him. It’s the most Diego’s ever said about himself and his relationship with Calvino since I met him, although he basically never stops talking once you get him started. I try to picture him and Calvino in prep school uniforms fighting other prep school bullies and totally fail to make the image cohere with the man I know, but I can understand how Calvino might inspire this level of loyalty.
“You work for him then, is that how it is?”
“Consider me his general fixer and counsel. If he needs a job done quietly, I’m the man he asks. Though I’m also heavily involved in all his clubs and restaurants and we co-own three CrossFit gyms in the Bay Area that are surprisingly profitable. Fucking tech nerds love running around and lifting heavy stuff, the stupid bastards.”
“Here’s me thinking all you did was sit at his bar and drink his liquor.”
He raises his glass with a wink and takes a sip. “Not a bad life.”
“You’ve known each other since you were kids then. What do you make of all this?” I hesitate and look down at my drink, suddenly embarrassed. “You know, with me.”
He studies me and doesn’t smile. I expect some kind of sarcastic remark, maybe about how I’m desperate for Calvino’s approval or something like that, but instead he only shakes his head slowly and taps a nail against his glass.
“He hasn’t been himself since his mother died. I say his mother specifically because he hated his piece of shit father, god rest that bastard’s soul, preferably in hell. But his mother, they were close, and since she died in that accident, he’s been hard to be around. It’s like a piece of him burned up with her.”
I chew on my lip and try to picture Calvino depressed, but all I can see is the cocky, confident jerk sitting in the kitchen shirtless making eggs and toast and coffee and smirking at me like he wants to bend me over the oven and fuck me until I scream.
“You think I’m a symptom of that?”
He sips his drinks slowly. “No, Grace. I think you’re the cure.”
I lean back in surprise and laugh a little, tugging at my hair. “Come on, that’s not true.”
“He was in a dark place before you came around, but ever since you stepped into the picture, it’s like he’s awake again. Not quite his old self exactly, but a little bit closer every day. I don’t know what you’re doing to him, but I hope you keep it up.”
He finishes his drink, slides the glass closer to Dustin, and stands. He sighs as he stretches, waves once, and walks off.
I watch him go, not sure what to make of that whole conversation.