Chapter 31
ALL OF THE ABOVE
During my run on Sunday morning, I mull over ideas for my meeting with Victoire’s PR department later this week.
The Twitter chatter has died down. Because that’s how social media cycles work—they reset whenever there’s a new outrage over whether pumpkin spice lattes have a right to exist or a celebrity should have an emotion. Still, Angeline made her wishes clear, and my job is to deliver for the client.
I’m solo on the trail today—I do my best thinking when I’m not smack-talking with my friends or laying down bets—so I peel off a few miles as the cogs turn.
I pass a man and a woman running together pushing a jogging stroller, then a pair of women who slow their pace to snap a selfie of a chaste kiss, then more solo runners.
The inkling of a publicity idea takes shape, but it needs more work, so I file it away, then head home to shower before I meet Spencer and Coco.
Grandma might not like spa getaways, but she loves her mani-pedis.
My cousin doesn’t think he heard me right.
Nor does my grandma.
So, I repeat myself.
“Bellamy and I have an understanding,” I explain as I dip my feet into the foot tub, wiggling my toes in the bubbly water. An attentive woman sets up to begin a This Little Piggy Pedi at Daisy’s Nails on Madison Avenue.
I’ve been accompanying Grandma to her weekly pedicures for years now. This shit is awesome and any dude who tells you otherwise can fuck off.
Spencer cracks up as he leans back in the cushy chair. “An understanding is a euphemism I haven’t heard before.”
“A euphemism for what?” I ask him.
“Sex, darling,” Coco says matter-of-factly.
I jerk my gaze toward her. “Really?”
“Hot, up-against-the-wall sex? All-night-long sex? Is that better?”
“That’s not what I meant by really,” I say.
“Then what did you mean?” she asks. “Did I get it wrong? Is your understanding with Bellamy for cooking lessons? A fantasy baseball league? A book club?”
“That one sounds like your speed, E,” Spencer says, turning the rollers even higher.
“I’m not opposed to sex and book clubs,” I say.
“Why don’t you let Bellamy know that, then?” Spencer asks. “Ladies love to hear when you reduce them to sex plus a favorite hobby.”
“Gee, thanks for the tip,” I say drily.
“He has a point, though, munchkin,” Coco chimes in. “Understandings for no-strings-attached nookie can get a little complicated.”
“But isn’t that your thing, Coco? Isn’t that what your whole life is about? No strings?” I counter.
“And I’m nearly eighty years old.”
Spencer scoffs. “You said fifty the other day.”
She flashes him a bright smile. “My favorite grandchild.”
“Forty,” I put in.
“My most favorite now,” she says to me, then takes a sip and sets her flute on the tray. “The point is this—I know how to have no-strings-attached sex. But understandings are very different when you’re approaching eighty. At my age, you show your cards. You leave the games at the poker table.”
“And that’s the same for Bellamy and me,” I say. “Everything is on the table. Honestly, I see nothing wrong with this. We’re setting appropriate boundaries. I think it’s healthy.”
A cough bursts from Spencer. Coco chirps a matching laugh.
“Laugh away,” I grumble. “But it’s quite mature.”
“Yes, Easton, you are the height of maturity in your relationships with women. Just like I was before I fell in love with my beautiful wife during our understanding for no-strings-attached sex,” Spencer says.
When TJ rounds the corner that second, I seize the chance to shift the conversation far, far away. “Did you enjoy your favorite service?” I call out.
“Did you have a mani?” Coco asks.
Shaking his head, TJ shows her his palms, shiny with lotion. “I’m a big fan of a hand rub.”
“How hard was that for you to say with a straight face? Hand rub?” I stretch out those words as I catch his gaze.
“Virtually impossible. Every time I come here to get a hand rub, my inner thirteen-year-old struggles mightily.”
“Marvelous self-control,” Coco coos, then pats the empty chair next to her. “Now, come help me with my new birthday plans. You’re just the man I need.”
TJ scoots up on the leather chair, sitting side saddle. “Are you still going to Vegas, Coco? You want to know the best clubs with the hottest dudes, right?”
Spencer cocks his head my way. “She’s going night clubbing?”
I shake my head. “Try to keep up, Spencer. Strip clubs. But she decided to have her party in New York instead at Stallions and Studs.”
“I love that place,” TJ says with a salacious grin.
Coco grabs her phone from her pocket, taps on it, then shows him the screen. “This is the menu of dancers at Stallions and Studs. Can you help me pick which ones you think will be the best? Do I want Leo the cop, Jack the fireman, or Jones the naughty professor?”
My friend smiles. “The answer is all of the above.”
“Of course! You’re such a dear. Thank you so much,” she says, and the two of them proceed to order strippers for her birthday party. When they’re done, she shoots him a smile. “Now, are you ever going to tell me what TJ stands for?”
“Coco,” he says with a frown. “I can’t reveal that.”
“Why not? I’m a vault.”
“It’s the least sexy name ever,” he stage-whispers.
“It is pretty un-hot, Coco,” I corroborate.
“Why does the munchkin get to know?” She pouts, pointing a thumb at me.
TJ cracks up, then meets my gaze. “E, she calls you ‘munchkin’?”
I shrug. “She does. Your real name doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?”
Leaning closer, TJ cups a hand over Coco’s ear and whispers, I assume, what his initials stand for.
Her blue eyes twinkle. “I understand why you use TJ, and I won’t tell a soul.” She mimes zipping her lips.
“I’m counting on that,” TJ says as my phone buzzes with an email.
Immediately, I flip it over.
Just in case it’s about an understanding.