“Yes.” I sit in the wing-back chair next to her. “I work in the morning.”
“Have you been summoned for the dinner party your father is having this weekend?”
Drawing my knees into my chest, I laugh. “Of course. He’s claimed all my weekends until November.”
“You could say no. You don’t owe him anything.”
I shrug. “I know, but I hate conflict.” Usually. “It’s easier to just make an appearance, let him introduce me to some of the most boring people in the world, then sneak out after he …” Casting my eyes downward, I sigh.
“After he sneaks off to the nearest private room to screw some bimbo?”
“Nana!” My jaw drops.
She smirks knowingly. Nothing gets by her. “Big dicks with too much money and power.”
“He’s still my father. I know in his own twisted way he loves me.”
She nods once with pursed lips. “So I know you didn’t stop by to talk about your father.”
Raising my brows, I pop my lips. “Nope.”
“Steven propose?”
“God, no! We’re not there yet.”
“Yet?” She perks up.
“Ever. He’s not the one.”
“Oh really? Does that mean someone else has thrown their hat into the ring?”
I bite my lips together.
“Spill, dear. Who is he?”
“He’s a makeup artist Gemmie recommended. But he has not, nor ever will be ‘throwing his hat into the ring.’”
“Married?” She grins as if the thought of me being someone’s mistress pleases her. It’s possible all my living relatives are a bit twisted.
I shake my head and smirk. “No, Nana, he’s not married. He’s … gay.”
She throws her head back and slaps her hand against her chest in a fit of laughter. “Oh my goodness!”
“Why is his sexual preference so hysterical?”
“Oh dear…” she wipes the corners of her eyes “…it’s just you have the worst luck in love. When did you find out?”
I reach over and grab a tissue from the sofa table and hand it to her, rolling my eyes. Then I proceed to tell her everything, not leaving out one single detail—including my magnetic attraction to him that shouldn’t be sexual but is.
“Well, dear, you’ve hit the jackpot.”
“What? How have you come to that conclusion from everything I’ve told you?”
“A guy friend who’s gay? I hear they’re every girl’s dream. Except, from the sounds of things, Trick needs to gay up a little more and stop confusing unsuspecting women.”
“Gay up? Who are you?”
She snaps her wrist at me. “I read the tabloids you know.”
“Yeah? Well then you should know that gay doesn’t have a look.”
“That’s the problem. You used to be able to tell by the ear piercing—right for gay left for straight. Or is it the other way around? Anyway, these days everything gets pierced and so it becomes terribly confusing.”
Nana provides nonstop entertainment, and every time I come by to see her I chastise myself for not doing it more often.
“We’re friends, period. And maybe you’re right. If he would ‘gay up’ a little more I might feel the jackpot effect.”
“Yes, shopping, hair, makeup, and chick flicks without competing hormones or competing for the same men.”
“Or wishing he weren’t gay,” I whisper to myself.
She tilts her head to the side, giving me a soft, sympathetic smile. “Or that too, dear.”
Chapter Seven
Gemmie is one of my few guilty indulgences. Tonight isn’t a gala, and I could wrangle my hair into something presentable for my father’s dinner party, but I need an hour in her chair to decompress from the week.
“I talked to Trick earlier. He said you weren’t on his schedule this afternoon. Did you forget to book him?”
“It’s a dinner party. I think I can manage some mascara and lip gloss for the night. Besides, after you’re done working your magic all eyes will be on my hair, not my face.” I wink at her reflection in the mirror.
“So … what were you doing with him the other night?”
I’ve been waiting for this question.
“We had dinner, just eggs and toast.”
“You heard me say he’s—”
“Gay. Yes, I know. We’re just friends.”
“Hmm, that’s … surprising.”
I sigh. “Why because I’m not worthy of having friends? Because—”
“Down, girl! Holy hell, what’s your deal? I meant Trick. He’s very private and not the type to make friends with …”
“With?”
She pulls my curled hair back into the most elegant ponytail I have ever seen. “Women. They make up ninety percent of his clientele, but I’ve heard he tolerates them … just barely. However, I don’t think it has anything to do with him being gay. I think it’s something from his past. So him befriending you is pretty miraculous.”
The newly formed knot in my stomach makes me nauseous. I know he doesn’t trust women, but I’ve felt like the exception—until now. Am I Trick’s charity case? He’s tolerating me? I feel like a complete idiot … again. How does this keep happening to me? Is the concept of me finding a genuine friend really that farfetched? Apparently.