Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Since evil tongues (Aya) had called Baz’s sense into question, he made a point of proving them (her) wrong by being thoroughly lawyerly in his meeting with Vanessa Martinez.
She showed up on time, in a sensible blouse and business slacks that any jury would deem respectable.
She actively listened to everything Baz explained about her duties of being the face of the case, the need for her to tell her story, and to tell it well—not much practice needed on that front.
Her tale of the ambitious girl who was robbed of a career as a professional runner by the negligence of an evil corporation was bound to get sympathy.
Baz only needed to get a few parents on that jury, and the cards were in their favor.
They’d win the case and humiliate Ian and the victory sex with Sami would be out of this world.
Assuming Sami hated Ian enough to have some schadenfreude—oh, who was he kidding, this was Sami. Of course they’d have a great time together.
All he needed now was for Aya to forgive him. She was the perfect professional in front of Vanessa, but whenever he caught her eye, no matter how soft a smile he offered, the piercing glare he got in return chilled him to the bone.
He deserved that. Except he really wanted it to stop.
So when they saw Vanessa off and Aya walked away, Baz was hot on her heels.
“Aya. Hey. Wait, please.”
She stopped so abruptly, Baz nearly bumped into her. She crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest, her fingers drumming a beat on her black blazer.
“I know I messed up. And I’m sorry, really. But if we’re gonna pull this off, we need to work as a team.”
“Have you ended things with you-know-who?”
“I haven’t seen him again.” That was the truth—but Baz also knew for a fact there was a message waiting for him on his phone.
Since Sullivan’s party last week, he and Sami hadn’t stopped texting. Usually, Baz avoided social interaction like a plague to recover from all the noise and people, but talking to Sami was so effortless, it didn’t drain him at all.
Sami had taken to sharing even more of his daily thoughts and doings, and maybe, Baz was too interested in finding out what randomness his brain produced to not encourage him with follow-up questions.
Last night, he got treated to an essay on the origin of the word ‘platonic’ and what that said about the broader attitude toward homosexuality and sex in general in ancient Greece, which had escalated into a call that kept them glued to their phones until the early hours of the morning.
Two hours of sleep, yet Baz felt more energized than ever. He hadn’t even had coffee yet.
“That’s not a good answer,” Aya groaned. “Why, Baz? This is Chicago. There are thousands of gay guys who would love to have rage-fueled, anonymous sex with you. What’s so special about him?”
If only he knew. It couldn’t be Sami’s common sense or the quality of his life choices, that was for sure. Perhaps it was his eyes, that challenging smirk that disabled the sensible part of Baz’s brain—an excuse that might have worked up until the texting became a thing.
Maybe it was something much simpler than all of that.
“He makes me laugh.”
It sounded ludicrous, said out loud like that. Who put a career on the line for a laugh?
But the truth was, at the end of a long day, no matter how exhausted he was, he could count on Sami to say something obnoxious that made him smile. He’d never had a person like that in his life before.
Aya stared at him. He saw the thoughts rushing through her head, but on his life, he couldn’t begin to guess what they were. Then, she sighed, slow and controlled.
“It’s your life. Your career. If you want to throw that away, be my guest. But I’m not gonna pretend that I’m on board with it.” She walked away.
Baz swallowed against the nausea thickening his throat. He twirled his wrist, clenched his toes.
He couldn’t begrudge her feeling this way. She didn’t know Sami like he did. Sami wasn’t out to hurt him or his career. Hopefully, she’ll see that when they won the case and could forgive him.
His legs felt heavy, as though weights were chained to them when he dragged them back to his office, toward the beacon of light that was his phone. Ripe with a new notification from his favorite stalker.
20 bucks if you wear this to the office
This being a bowtie made to look like the inside of a watermelon. Despite it all, Baz chuckled. Sure, he wore two-thousand-dollar suits just to ruin them with a five-dollar joke bowtie.
In your dreams
that is what I dream of yes
you in the bowtie and ONLY the bowtie <3
Such a flirt.
Sami’s nonsense didn’t eradicate the guilt, but his jokes were a soft blanket swaddling him, whispering everything would be all right.
How could Aya expect him to live without that again?