I don’t know how long I sit there, but I’m still at the table when Jamie waltzes in, hair mussed and no bra. I’m certain she was wearing a bra when she left; I would have noticed if she’d been sitting half-naked with Damien.
“Douglas?” I ask. I hadn’t heard the familiar bang and thump, but I’d been a bit preoccupied.
“God no,” she says, and for a moment I’m relieved. I have no theory as to how she misplaced a bra, but at least I know she wasn’t out grabbing a fast fuck. “Kevin in 2H,” she says, and my relief turns cold and icy.
“You fucked him?”
“Trust me, that’s all he’s good for. The guy’s really not a brain trust, and we don’t have a lot in common. Well, except for an excess of energy.”
“Jesus, Jamie.” My problems seem petty and stupid compared to the complete randomness of Jamie’s conquests. “Why sleep with him if you don’t even like him?”
“Because it’s fun. Don’t worry. He’s not going to go all stalker on me. We both know it’s a no-strings kind of thing.”
“It’s dangerous, James,” I say, the nickname from our childhood signaling that this is a Serious Conversation.
“Bullshit, Nicholas,” she counters. “I told you. He’s not the dangerous sort.”
“I’m not talking about only him. But just because you think he looks nice doesn’t mean he’s not a whack job. And how do you know you won’t catch something? Were you careful?”
“Christ, already. Are you my mom? Of course I was careful.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” I move the five feet into our living room and flop onto the sofa. “You’re my best friend. I worry. I mean, you do these guys, and then they’re out of your life.” I frown, thinking of Damien. “Do you ever think about dating?” I ask, more harshly than I intend.
“Do you?”
I struggle to remain level. “This isn’t about me.”
“No, but it could be. I fuck around. You don’t fuck at all. It’s like we’re that Emily Dickinson poem.”
I stare at her, utterly confused.
“The candle,” she clarifies. “You burn at one end, and I burn at the other.”
I can’t help but laugh. “That makes no sense whatsoever.”
She shrugs. Sometimes Jamie is profound. Sometimes she’s not. She doesn’t much care either way. It’s one of the reasons I love her, and one of the things I admire about her. No matter what else she might be, at the end of the day, Jamie is always Jamie.
Not so, me.
Or Damien Stark, I think.
I wonder if that’s why I find him so alluring.
“That smile isn’t for me,” Jamie says. “And I seriously doubt it’s for Kevin or Douglas. So let’s see … hmmm … could you be thinking about the sexy hunka hunka billionaire who just left our little shack of a condo?”
“I could be,” I admit.
“So what was the present? More important, why aren’t you two in your bedroom fucking your brains out?”
“We’re not dating,” I say.
“Like you have to date to fuck?”
“He wants me to pose for a nude portrait,” I say, though I hadn’t intended to tell her a thing. “And he’s willing to pay me one million dollars to get it.”
She gapes at me. I have actually flummoxed Jamie Archer. This is a first.
“A million dollars? Seriously?”