with publishing houses in the city?”
He smirks. “Rich people contacts?”
“Oh, come on, Billionaireman,” I retort. “I’m surprised you can even walk in the city without men and women falling at your feet and financial advisors picketing for your investment money.”
He rolls his eyes but chuckles. “Does the role of Billionaireman come with a cape? I’ve always wanted a cape.”
I snort. “If you want a cape, clearly, you can afford to buy a cape.”
“You don’t think that’ll get me funny looks?”
“In this city? With your money? It’ll be the next big fashion trend. You’ll see capes on every blessed corner.”
He shakes his head. “Better stick to suits, then.”
I smile—a big, dreamy smile that could easily cross over into creepy if I don’t monitor it closely. Unfortunately, we’ve gotten off topic enough that I have to go out on a limb again. “So, besides the rich people contacts, what else did he ask of you?”
His beautiful blue eyes narrow slightly. “What else do you think he asked me?”
“I don’t know…” I pause, and a thousand different scenarios play out in my head. “Ev is fucking nosy sometimes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked you to help me make friends or date or something insane like that.”
“Help you date?” His eyes go wide. “I can assure you that was not requested of me.”
“Well, I’m shit at dating.” The words just kind of fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. “So, it wouldn’t exactly be unwarranted.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because I am,” I answer honestly, and before I know it, I’m pouring my heart out like this is a goddamn Jackie Collins novel.
It’s annoying as hell. But not anything new.
Even as a kid, Milo could pretty much get me to tell him anything.
I fondly recall being eleven years old and telling him about a fight I’d had with Emma—my best friend at the time. It was the usual catty girl stuff, but it was putting a serious rain on my adolescent parade, and Milo ended up being the only person in my house who was willing to listen.
After that, I trusted him.
And evidently, over a decade later, I still do.
“You didn’t date when you were at Stanford?” he asks and pops a fry into his mouth.
“A few times, I guess.” I shrug. “But nothing of substance. Most guys my age weren’t into a quiet night of Netflix. They wanted frat parties and bar-hopping.”
“Sounds like you’ve been dating the wrong guys, Mayb.”
I snort. “So, what you’re telling me is that basically every guy I came into contact with at Stanford was the wrong guy?”
“No.” He laughs. “Well, maybe. I don’t know who you were around. But a college frat party isn’t a great place to meet a guy, base case.”
I nod, though I suppose it’s happened for some people.
“And what about you?” I ask before finishing off my last bite of Reuben.
“What about me?”
“Are you dating anyone?”
“No.” He tilts his head toward his shoulder, and he smirks. “Nothing steady anyway.”
Another snort escapes my nose. “I’m not surprised.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I laugh. “I mean I’m not surprised that you’re doing a lot of not-steady dating.”
“I didn’t say I was doing a lot of it,” he defends pitifully.
“Oh, c’mon, Milo,” I retort. “Back in the day, you always had a revolving door of pretty girls. When you were living with us, you once came home from one date, only to go on three more in the same night. With three different girls.”
He chokes on his water. “I did not.”
“You definitely did.” I nod, eyes serious.
“How the hell did I even fit that much activity in?”
“You and Evan were in your senior year of high school, and you said it was, and I quote, conditioning.”
“No!”
“Getting in shape,” I say, using finger quotes, “for prom.” The vivid nature of my memories of him would probably be more disturbing if he weren’t so horrified by his own actions.
“Well, fuck. What an asshole, seventeen-year-old-kid kind of thing to say.” He runs a hand through the dark locks on top of his head. “I have to admit,” he says with a tiny smile. “I’m a little disappointed in myself.”
I shrug.
“How in the hell do you remember this kind of shit?”
Because, when it comes to you, I remember everything. Sigh.
“I don’t know… So, yeah, it’s safe to say I’m not surprised you have fuck buddies now.”
“Fuck buddies?” he coughs, choking on his water.
“Yeah. A fuck buddy. Friends with benefits. That sort of thing.”
“Jesus,” he says through a chuckle.