9. Alex
“Again?!”
Alex stands in front of Tech Me Out, squinting through foggy lenses and shaking her backpack like a maraca. But there’s no rattle or jingle.
She tries to picture the inside of her car, the floor full of rock-salt pebbles and plastic bottles. There’s a useless snowbrush in the passenger seat, but no keys. Which means for the second time in a week, she can’t open the gate to her store.
Alex jams a knee between the rungs and plops the bottom of her bag on her thigh, only for a half-eaten muffin to launch through the zipper and onto the pavement. It rolls onto the street until the wheels of a hatchback paint the asphalt with chocolate. She feels sorry for it, but its demise has a silver lining; it wasn’t the only thing she was supposed to have for breakfast.
When she imagines her kitchen counter, she sees a cup of yogurt, a banana…and her work keys. It doesn’t solve her main problem, but she sighs anyway. Then, her gaze rolls behind the metal barrier, where a matte-green computer curls away from cloudy glass.
“Why are you just standing here?” Ben asks from behind. The fringes of a brownish-black scarf mingle with the ones sprouting atop his temple before he swats them away.
Alex whirls around. “Oh, thank God. I thought I was going to have to follow my muffin or something.”
“What? Oh, you lost your keys again, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t lose them, Benjamin. They’re at home.”
“Uh-huh.” Ben unlocks and hoists the gate above their heads.
Alex flattens the computer decal and waits for that last twist and click. She passes through the door and flicks a black switch, causing a ricochet of light and darkness as she walks down an aisle of lifeless screens.
In her office, Alex’s bag crunches onto her desk, or—onto the layers of things on her desk, and her life flashes before her eyes as her chair tilts, flicking the ends of her locs against the wall.
What the fuck is going on today?!
She squishes her thighs against the frame of the chair, digs her heels into wooden planks, and scoots forward, leaning her forehead against interlocked hands.
The sound of a gentle thud lifts her chin, and she sees Ben sit a steaming mug by her arm. He may not be a middle-aged barista, but he always brews his tea with love.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, beautiful.” Ben uses his hip to make room at the edge of her desk, swinging a leg against the side.
“You know, I used to think the second I was Ivan-free, my curse of misfortune would be lifted. But it’s been forty-eight hours, and it turns out—I am just plain clumsy.” Alex laughs quietly. “I mean, I don’t know how many times Antonio had to…” Antonio?
“Had to what?”
Alex folds her earlobe. “Nothing.”
“Ohh,” Ben drawls teasingly. “So you’re still thinking about him?”
“What? N-No? He’s basically Nik. In a more charming…protective…somewhat intuitive…” —Sexier— “Package.”
“Then he’s the opposite of Nik?”
Alex leans her chin on her palm. The only thing she’s sure of is that Antonio Moretti is an enigma. He’s the guy with the gun who…shares his fries. Opens doors. Goes toe-to-toe with Ivan Komarov. Alex has no idea what they talked about in that office, but she knows it wasn’t their weekend plans.
The mini fridge (a souvenir from Alex and Ben’s time together in a tiny apartment during their university years) starts to hum a little too loudly. Ben kicks it gently and it quiets down.
“By the way, there’ll be a new addition to our family,” Alex says
“I beg your pardon?”
She grins. “Dr. Bell has a nephew, Patrick. He’s taking a gap year and wants to make some money during his journey of self discovery.”
“Ohhh. Nice!”
“Mhmm… So…where are we with Salsa guy?”
Ben’s eyes travel around the ceiling as he pats his pockets. “Damn, would you look at that?”
She pokes his thigh. “Don’t try to dodge the question!”
He smiles slyly. “I really must’ve left my phone in the car, though.”
“Oh? Did the impeccable Benjamin Rivera misplace something? Call the press!”
“You can only react like that when I lose the same thing twice in the same week. Which will never happen. I know I left it in the car, because I texted you about that accident I saw on—”
“Okay. Sheesh. Go get your phone.”
He heads outside and Alex sets up the storefront, turning on the power to the screens and illuminating the “open” sign.
When Ben returns, he takes hold of the broom minding its own business behind one of the display cases, and proceeds to turn it into a shovel, digging it into the floor so the bristles pluck off violently.
“What are you doing?” Alex asks.
“Man. Beautiful man coming.”
“What?”
He nods his head towards the entrance, where a dark shadow takes shape. The door opens, and Alex can make out the features of a man maybe an inch or two shorter than Ben. He has a complexion darker than hers, but his eyes are a light brown. His face reads bright and welcoming, but his crisp, pewter suit and matching tie scream, “I’m only here for business”.
Alex conceals her skepticism and greets him. “Good morning. How can we help you?”
His perfectly straightened teeth look like a flashlight in his mouth. “Good morning. My name is Trey Jordan—TJ. I’m here to see if someone named C. Harley can give me a tune-up?”
Oh, boy.“Okay. This way.” She stretches her arm to the back of the store. And once TJ passes her, Alex signals Ben with her eyes to “get a grip”. She opens the panel to her office and walks inside.
“This is a cool setup, eh?” TJ says.
“It’s a mess, but thank you for being nice. I’m Alex, by the way. Here, uh—” Alex swipes Ben’s chair from behind his desk and rolls it to the side of hers.
“Oh, I can stand. I mean—unless you want me to sit? I can sit.”
Alex laughs politely. “Whatever you’re more comfortable doing.”
“I’ll…sit. It’d be weird to stand. Right?” TJ grins and sits.
Alex takes her own seat, and luckily it supports her this time. “So…can I ask how you found us?”
“For sure. I work in Milwaukee, but I occasionally have business in the area. And what I’m about to ask for your help with…let’s just say it’s not in my best interests to do it in my backyard. C. Harley was on a list of reputable gray-hats in the area. Not like, on the open internet or anything, but…you know.”
Some of Alex’s apprehension recedes as she looks back on why she started up this side business in the first place. She wanted to help the people who needed it most, and they usually weren’t terribly wealthy or technologically sophisticated. They weren’t accessing the dark web; they were posting on social media and internet forums. Of course, Alex couldn’t advertise her less-than-legal services so freely, but C. Harley could.
However, particularly in the beginning, Alex couldn’t sustain Tech Me Out on “pay what you can” prices. So, she took on some of those well-off clients. It’s not surprising that after all this time, her name is floating around the darknet.
“Right. So…what is it you need help with?”
TJ looks at her with an incredibly serious face. “I think I’ve stumbled upon a trafficking ring.”
“Trafficking? For—”
“People. Human trafficking.”
Alex lips trill. “Shit. S-Sorry. I mean—shoot.”
“Nah, I think it’s worth the shit.”
“Then don’t you think you’d be better off going to the police?”
“I will. As soon as I get irrefutable proof. One wrong move could put a lot of lives in jeopardy.”
“Right... And how did you manage to stumble on something like this?”
TJ takes a folded manila envelope from his inner breast pocket. He extends his hand, but pulls it back quickly. “Some context, first. I work for a very prominent company. There’s…a hierarchy. There are those like me, who wear the suits but don’t really have much power. Then you’ve got the—for lack of a more respectful term—little people, who tend to do their job and keep their heads down. And then we have the ones high above us all, pulling strings left and right.”
Sounds like typical bureaucracy.
“Over the last two years, one of those puppet masters—a director in my division—has had three assistants. All of whom mysteriously disappeared. When the first two left, word spread that they apparently quit. But the third started calling out two or three days a week, until one day, she was just gone for good. And now…there’s Hetty. I know it’s not a coincidence. But tell me what you think.” TJ holds out the envelope again. “She wrote this.”
Alex accepts the packet. The paper is thin and floppy, but the story she finds is heavy.
Hetty George, now nineteen, and originally from Haiti. She came to the U.S. five months ago with her family’s full support. However, the money they saved only lasted for half that time. Hetty sent her information to a temp agency, and not forty-eight hours later, someone notified her of an opening as an assistant at a marketing firm. She needed no experience or skills except for a “desire to succeed”. There couldn’t have been a more convenient opportunity, or so it seemed.
However, in the transition to her new job, Hetty couldn’t afford a steady residence. But the director was so impressed during her interview, he decided to do something he claimed was “unlike him”. He offered her a place to stay until she could manage on her own.
“Of course, they always make it seem like they’re saving the day, don’t they?” Alex asks out loud. TJ gives her a strange look, so she continues reading.
Although, she could have predicted what follows. Because she was Hetty. Hetty is Alex. Not word for word, of course, but in their shared loneliness and vulnerability. In searching in the dark for hope.
James and this director, they’re both the same, as well. Preying on the fractures in the minds of people who trusted them, and manipulating them until they were shells of themselves.
“I’m curious…” Alex sets the paper on her desk. “Why did she tell you all this?”
TJ scratches the side of his face. “There’s this little mom and pop spot around the corner from our building. Took us a few times to notice we were both walking to and from the same place pretty much every day, but once we did, we got to know each other over lunch. Sometimes breakfast. She said I was the first one in the States who’d made her feel like an actual person, and that I reminded her of her father.” He grins. It’s a bit goofy. “I mean…I’m only thirty-two, though.”
Alex shoots him a smile back. “Dads can be pretty cool.”
“You’re right. Look, Alex, I know I’ve probably overwhelmed you, but all I can ask is if there’s even a piece of you that’s more outraged than terrified, you step out on a limb and help me. Actually…not me. Hetty and the rest of them.”
Overwhelmed is an understatement, especially after the events of the past two days. But…this is the kind of work Alex would like to say she had a hand in. “Can you give me until Monday? I’d like to discuss this with my…colleagues. I’ll call you with my decision.”
“Absolutely.” TJ places his hands in his pockets and takes out a tiny, white card, which he leaves on Alex’s desk.
With an eerie sense of déjà vu, she glimpses once more at Hetty’s story and makes her choice before she hears TJ leave. At least this time she doesn’t feel a rush to dive into the deep end.
Ben walks in slowly. “You look like that was an intense conversation. What happened?”
“I should probably keep this one to myself. In case it turns out to be…I don’t know.”
The following afternoon, Alex stops by the residence of Eric and Victoria Agneau, still having to give the front door that second push to make sure it locks all the way. She uses her toe to slide the runner back into place over the off-white rug pad, and she blows out the wick burning in a puddle of wax.
“What life choices are we questioning today, I wonder?” Alex whispers, unbuttoning her coat.
She wonders because Victoria Agneau’s specialty is the curveball. Two visits ago, Victoria gave her daughter a lecture for letting seventeen months pass since her last visit to the optometrist, and somehow Alex regressed to when four-year-old her stole a pack of bubble gum from the grocery store.
The time before that, her mother “casually” mentioned the orange engine light invading the dashboard in her car—which Alex knows she should get checked out, but it somehow led her to think about her parakeet, Courage, that didn’t make it all the way to his eighth birthday. So, the only thing Alex expects is the unexpected.
She barely secures her coat on the wobbly rack before she hears her father’s heavy but brisk gait coming near.
“My girl!” Eric’s silver scruff brushes Alex’s forehead as he embraces her and kisses her cheek. “I appreciate the texts you’ve been sending; they truly brighten my day. But they can’t replace seeing your beautiful face, you know that?”
“I know, Dad, I’m sorry. Been a little busy. But I’m here now.”
“That you are. What a treat.”
Alex beams. “Speaking of treats, where’s Mama? I thought we could go to dinner?”
“She should be back from the nail salon soon. And are you saying you’ll cover the bill? What’s the occasion?”
“I do have some news. But also, what’s the point of stressing myself out at work if I can’t use the money I make to spoil two of my favorite people?” She clasps her arms around her father’s back again, indulging in his signature scent. To this day, Alex can’t remember what it’s called or what it comprises, only that it is the very first gift she bought for him with her own money, courtesy of a babysitting gig during the summer of her fifteenth birthday. Alex just purchased the first thing that smelled nice, but Eric has been wearing it ever since.
He holds onto her for a little longer. “Excellent point. Why don’t you call her and see how long she’ll be?”
Alex nods and pulls out her phone to dial Victoria’s number. “Hey, Mama! What? Nothing is wrong. I just—yeah, Dad said the same thing. Mama. Mama! I’m calling to see if you wanted to grab dinner? …Right. I’ll see you in a few minutes, then.”
“What’d she say?”
“Before or after she expressed how neglected she’s felt?” Alex half-jokes. “She’s pulling up in a few minutes, so we can get ready to go. How does Mexican sound? I’m in the mood for some nachos.”
About an hour and a half later, the Agneaus fill up a golden, velvet booth in a downtown restaurant. Every seat at every table has an occupant, and the bar looks uncomfortably crowded, but that’s good for the restaurant’s sake, since it’s happy hour.
Alex wonders if Sogno–
Nope. Nope. No thinking about Moretti.
She throws back one of the specialty margaritas while Eric opts for an IPA, and Victoria daintily sips at her sangria.
“So, Alexandra, what is this news you have? Are you seeing anyone?” Victoria starts off, because of course that’s the most important thing to know.
“Well, now that you mention it—yes, actually.”
Victoria blinks rapidly and her peach-pink lips part ways. “And who might that be?”
“Allen.”
“Allen? How long has this been going on?”
“I’ve seen him every day for at least the past year.”
“What?” Victoria peers at Eric, who only smiles and shrugs. “How am I just hearing about this? I’d like to meet him.”
Alex swallows more of her drink and watches her mother’s gears turn. “You have. Quite a few times.”
“Wh—when?”
“There’s that time he had to check your ID. And the time he held the elevator for us when he was going back to the front desk.”
“The front de—Alexandra, are you speaking of the concierge for your condominium?!”
“Yeah? You asked if I was seeing someone. I do see him.”
Eric bursts into laughter, the nostrils of his bulb-y nose flaring.
Victoria pets one of the long, cherry-brown waves around her head. “Alexandra!”
“Chill, Mama,” Alex cackles, taking a larger sip of her margarita.
“You’ll send me to an early grave!”
“My love, look at her. Our daughter is fine. What more do you want?” Eric interjects.
“You say that now. But in four years, she’ll be a spinster with no hope for a husband!”
Somebody’s been binging too many period-pieces. “Why? What happens at thirty? Do I emit anti-men pheromones?”
Victoria tuts.
“You know, I recently read a Buzzley article that said young people are choosing to get married later. That’s if marriage is in their plans at all. It’s not uncommon.”
Buzzley? Alex sniggers. “Thank you for your support, Dad. And Mama, I thought we were on the same page about this stuff by now?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I want love, marriage, kids—you know that. But whether they’ll come at thirty-five or fifty-two, who knows, and who cares? We’re past the days of women”s only aspiration being a kept housewife. And did you forget you’re also the one who taught me I should never settle?”
“Of course not, darling. I just thought…” Victoria says nothing else, but her face still has a hint of brooding on it as Eric smiles and pats her hand.
Alex nods, knowing her mother only wants the best for her. That she only wants Alex to clear that lingering taste of her ex off of her tongue (to put it mildly).
Though the conversation moves away from Alex and her non-existent beau, the topic of the last ten minutes, which are fun (albeit a little gross) facts about animals prompts Victoria to escape before the check arrives.
After she uses a napkin to wipe up crumbs from the table, she says, “When the two of you are done, I’ll be in the car.” Her slender fingers work to wrap a fuchsia belt around the waist of her coat, and then she sails away.
Alex fakes a frown. “Should we have left out the thing about the lizards?”
Eric leans against the booth, his laugh booming from his belly. “My girl. I’ve missed you.”
Alex smiles, gathering the utensils and putting them on a pile of plates. “Me too.”
“I suppose we got a bit distracted.”
“How so?”
“Your news?” Eric already has his card out, so when the server approaches, he gives the bill a quick glance and passes both back to the server.
“Oh.” Alex watches a dirty rag fall from the server”s back pocket as he walks away. ”How ”bout that. I totally forgot. I want you and Mama to hear it at the same time, though.”
“Alright. And the other thing?” Eric hands her a piece of mint gum.
“The…other thing?” Oh, you mean “the guy I can’t stop thinking about despite the red flags he threw at me” thing?
“We know you’ve become quite the entertainer over the years, but I can still tell when you’re off. Whether you’ve come from my loins or—”
“Oh, Dad, no. Please—”
“—not. I still know you as a father should.”
Alex smiles again, this time flimsily, as she pops the gum in her mouth and leans against her father’s hand. “What gave it away?”
“What do you think?” Eric’s index finger gently flaps her earlobe.
“Can I just say I need some time to process and leave it there for the moment?”
“Certainly, my girl.” He pats the table. “We should skedaddle. Her royal highness, the Drama Queen, must be fuming.”
“I know, right? Although, I defected from the kingdom, so it’s you who she’ll put under the guillotine.”
Alex and Eric exit the restaurant linked arm in arm and walk until a familiar figure stops her in her tracks.
“Alex?”
Alex has to stop the gum from tumbling down her throat. Oh. My— “Hey.”
“H-Hey.”
Those distinct, squally eyes scan her from top to bottom and back again. Alex returns the favor. At first, she doesn’t notice the man isn’t alone, and she forgets she isn’t, either.
Eric takes care of that. “Yello.”
“Sorry. Dad, this is my dad, Eric. Shit—I mean, Dad,” Alex says, patting Eric”s shoulder, ”this is—”
“Antonio,” Antonio says, reaching out his hand. “And this is my brother, Frankie. Frankie, this is Charlie. Er—Alex. Agneau. Alex Agneau.”
If Antonio hadn’t introduced Frankie as his brother, Alex wouldn’t have guessed. Not just because they share very little physical attributes (Frankie is shorter, with brown hair and eyes), but because the first thing this Moretti does is give her a huge smile.
“The Alex, huh? You’ve been taking up quite a bit of my brother’s attention lately. You’re all he’s been talking about these past few days!”
Well, I wouldn’t have guessed that. But Alex raises her eyebrows and flips her hair back. “I’m known to have that effect on people,” she says, trying not to be amused at how tightly she sees Antonio squeeze his brother’s shoulder.
“I mentioned you for all of three seconds. Francesco here often exaggerates.”
Frankie continues smiling. “And Tony often fabricates. Ay, you happen to like rom-coms?”
Alex’s neck draws back. “Me?”
“Yeah,” Frankie says, shrugging. ”My fianceé’s a personal stylist and one of her clients gave her tickets to this movie premiere.”
“And you want her to go with a stranger?”
“Well…we’ve got two kids and she hasn’t really had time to make adult friends. I’ll go with her if I have to, but after hearing how my big bro described you, I think she’d have a much better time with you, ya know?”
Alex’s eyes converge with Antonio’s to look for a hint that this is his doing in some part. Frankie’s rationale isn’t totally unbelievable, but it’s still pretty incredible. It’s possible it’s his way of helping his brother open the door to seeing Alex again without making it so obvious. Then again, Antonio seems the type to be upfront about that—if it’s what he wants.
So, Alex chooses to accept the invitation at face-value. Frankie takes her number while promising she’ll have a fantastic time.
Alex then turns her attention to her father, whose attention is on Antonio…whose attention is still on her.
Oh, boy. “Dad, what was that you said earlier about skedaddling?”
Antonio breaks his concentration. “Yeah, and Frankie and I were, uh… We were…”
“Gonna get something to eat?” Frankie finishes.
“Of course. It was a pleasure, gentlemen. You two take care,” Eric says.
He and Alex slowly make their way to the car, a block away. She feels absolutely childish, chomping on her gum, wanting to look back to see if Antonio is doing the same, but she holds onto her dignity, and a smile, as she bounces over cracks in the concrete.
“Alex.”
“Yes, Father?”
“You and Antonio, what’s going on there? He called you Charlie?” Eric sounds calm enough, but Alex can hear a hint of concern.
She crushes her ear. “Yeah. It’s a…funny story. He found me. Or, he found C. Harley.”
“He found you? For a job?”
“Dad—”
“Is it more than work? Is he what you needed to process?”
Alex stops walking. She would expect these kinds of questions from her mother, but not him. “Dad. What’s up?”
Eric gives her a weary smile. “Maybe I’m getting paranoid in my old age.”
Ugh. “…Okay. Here’s the condensed version. In a wild chain of events, Ivan asked me to do a job. The job involved Antonio, and he caught me. So, I’m not proud, but it happened, and I’m thinking it was all for the best.”
“Was it?”
Alex tosses out a hand. “Well, that’s the news. No more Ivan. Antonio helped me end things with him for good.”
Eric’s facial features tense up. “From the kindness of his heart?”
“For the good of his business, I guess.”
Eric sighs and stops about fifty feet from the car. “Alex, I still want you to be careful, alright?”
“I will.”
“And if it turns into something else—”
“Dad!” Alex shakes her head. “One day at a time, okay? I just told you I’m done with Ivan. That’s a win.”
“Can you blame me for having doubts?”
“I don’t. I have my own, too. But can you blame me for wanting to…enjoy this freedom?”
“No,” Eric says, rubbing her back. “Not at all.”
Alex knows sometimes the strangest situations can have the most remarkable outcomes, and Frankie may have been on to something by connecting her with Yuna.
For instance, she’s now watching a sparkling limousine pull up in the roundabout of her condo.
Yuna did send a text earlier about dressing to impress, so it makes sense she’d want to arrive in style as well. Alex isn’t complaining either way.
A loud thump sounds, and brown hair with coppery highlights peeks from the middle of the limo. “Oww…” The rest of Yuna’s head pops out, and by the time she recognizes Alex is waiting, her lilac-brushed eyelids widen. “Hi, babe! Come on in!”
Alex cheeses and bunches up some of her peach maxi-dress so the hem doesn’t touch the ground as she walks. She ducks into the limo and sees Yuna swaying on her knees in the middle of the booth and holding two flutes of champagne. Her black jumpsuit has a plunging neckline that makes her cleavage look fantastic.
“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this,” Yuna says, passing one of the flutes to Alex. “Should we formally introduce ourselves?”
“Girl—you’ve got me out here in a limo; we’re already best friends. But sure.” Alex clears her throat. “Hey, my name is Alex Agneau.”
Yuna squeals. “Yuna Ackerman. When Frankie first told me what he did, I thought he was joking. But then I was like…maybe I need to do something kind of crazy, you know?”
Alex swigs some champagne and stares at the swirls of blue and green on the ceiling. “Well. I’m here, so I guess I do.” She chuckles, and then pulls her ear. “So…I didn’t want to ask you over text, but I am genuinely curious, ‘cuz Frankie talked about it, and then you mentioned it… What makes it hard for you to make friends? Not judging—promise. I just wonder if it’s pretty much the same for all of us.”
Yuna confirms with the driver that they’re ready to depart, then lays back against the booth. “Truthfully? I don’t think I’ve ever actually had friends.” She uses air quotes. “The things I had in common with the people I hung out with had nothing to do with our personalities and interests. When I was younger, I followed the path my parents laid out for me: hung out with who they wanted, dated who they wanted… But it wasn’t until I met Frankie that I realized how empty those relationships were. Then we had Luca, then Yuri, and I didn’t have much free time to realize what I was missing. But now they can go to the bathroom and eat on their own.” She laughs. “And I’m…I don’t know. I guess it feels like I’ve hid so much of myself away by now, that…”
“It’s hard to find the real you? Like you stuffed it in a briefcase somewhere, locked it, and now you can’t find the key?” Alex fidgets and washes down the rest of her drink. “Sorry. Projection.”
Yuna looks dumbfounded. “No! That’s exactly what it is. Or how it was. I found the key after meeting Frankie, and I unlocked the briefcase. But I still keep it closed, because every time it cracks open, a little glimpse of me comes out, and people are like…yikes. Like, oh, you’re a mom, you’re twenty-seven, you’re this, you’re that—so you shouldn’t be doing certain things. It’s been easier to just keep it tucked away for good. But…you know what?” Yuna gives a thoughtful look. “Frankie was right.”
“About what?” Alex asks, tilting her head.
“I don’t feel that way around you. He said someone who made that kind of impression on his brother had to be pretty amazing.”
Alex’s cheeks heat up. “Oh?”
“You should’ve heard him. He was all, ‘Babe, Babe—listen to this.’” Yuna uses an exaggerated, deep, boisterous voice. It kind of sounds like Frankie? “I’m out with Tony, right? And we run into the woman I was telling you about. The one he kept talking about.”
“Kept talking about?”
“Right? You get it already! Anyway.” Yuna goes back to the voice. “I swear, I’ve never seen him act like that. She made him stutter. They couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. It was great.”
“It was also awkward. Did he forget my dad was there, too?”
“Nope. But in my opinion, that’s even more proof he’s into you. But…” Yuna crosses her legs.
“But?”
“Are you into him?”
Alex sets her flute into a cup holder, as if she can’t hold onto it and the question at the same time. It should be a simple enough answer, however, Alex learned her lesson with Nik that physical attraction alone won’t sustain her, even for something temporary. “Maybe? I don’t know him well enough to say, yet.”
“Okay. I was asking ‘cuz if you were, I was going to give you a heads up that Antonio…is interesting. He doesn’t do relationships.”
“A man who’s not ready for commitment,” Alex says, rolling her eyes. “Where have I heard that story before?”
“Ugh, I know.” Yuna grins. “But I say he’s interesting because he’ll be the perfect gentleman and make you feel like a queen for the night. Frankie and I’ve dubbed it the Moretti Experience. And it’s not a ruse; if he decides to give you his attention, you get his full attention. The problem is, no one can hold onto it for long. You basically have to sign on a dotted line acknowledging it’s a temporary lease.”
Alex cringes. “That doesn’t make him sound that great. I mean, it’s not like I’m looking to fall in love with the guy, but sheesh. He sounds like the ultimate fuckboy. Just in cursive.”
Yuna lets out a laugh. “Why does that make so much sense?! Still, I think…you should make up your own mind. There”s definitely more to him than meets the eye.”