I was glad she hadn’t spent the night. I wanted to like the woman who said she was carrying my best friend’s baby, but the leggy model didn’t make it easy for me. I felt like she deliberately baited me whenever she could. I got the strong impression that she would like nothing more than to keep Cary all to herself and I was viewed as a big roadblock to that end.

My best friend sprawled facedown on the other section of the sofa, his head near my thigh and his long legs stretched out. “Whatcha working on?”

“Making lists. I want to get started on something for abuse survivors.”

“Yeah? What are you thinking?”

One of my shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “I don’t really know. I keep thinking about Megumi and how she didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t tell anyone, either. Neither did you, until way later.”

“Because who’s going to give a shit?” he said gruffly, propping his chin on his hands.

“And it’s scary to talk about it. There are a lot of hotlines and shelters for victims. I want to find something else that makes a difference, but I don’t have any groundbreaking ideas.”

“So talk to idea people.”

My mouth curved. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Hell, why reinvent the wheel? Find someone who’s doing it right and help ’em out.” He rolled onto his back and scrubbed at his face with both hands.

I knew that gesture and what it signified. Something was eating at him.

“Tell me about your day,” I said. I’d ended up spending more one-on-one time with Gideon in San Diego than I had with Cary, and I felt bad about that. Cary said he’d had a good time hanging with his old crowd, but that hadn’t been the purpose of our trip. I felt like I’d let him down, even though he didn’t accuse me of doing so.

He dropped his hands to his sides. “I had a shoot this morning, and then I saw Trey for a late lunch.”

“Did you say anything to him about the baby?”

He shook his head. “I thought about it, but I couldn’t do it. I’m such a dick.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s a rough spot you’re in.”

Cary’s eyes closed, shuttering the vivid green of his irises. “I was thinking the other day how much easier it’d be if Trey swung both ways. Then we could both be banging Tat and each other, and I could have it all. Then I realized I didn’t want to share Trey with Tat. Don’t mind sharing her. But not him. Tell me that doesn’t make me a total douche.”

Reaching out, I ruffled my fingers through his dark hair. “It makes you human.”

I’d been in a similar situation with Gideon, thinking I could work out a way to be friends with Brett, even while I was aggravated that Gideon was friends with Corinne. “In a perfect world, none of us would be selfish, but that’s not the way it goes. We just do our best.”

“You’re always making excuses for me,” he muttered.

I thought about that for a second. “No,” I corrected gently, bending over to press a kiss to his forehead. “I just forgive you. Someone has to, since you won’t forgive yourself.”

—

WEDNESDAY morning came and went in a flurry. Lunch was on me before I knew it.

“We were celebrating our engagement two weeks ago,” Steven Ellison said, as I settled into the chair he held out for me. “Now we get to celebrate yours.”

I smiled; I couldn’t help it. There was something infectiously joyful about my boss’s fiancé, which you couldn’t help but pick up on. “Must be something in the water.”

“Must be.” He glanced at his partner, then back at me. “Mark’s not losing you, is he?”

“Steven,” Mark admonished, shaking his head. “Don’t.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I answered, which earned me a surprised and pleased grin from my boss. His goatee-framed smile was as contagious as Steven’s gregariousness. Really, our scheduled lunches were worth the price of admission.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that,” Mark said.

“Me, too.” Steven opened his menu with a decisive snap, as if something important had been decided. “We want you to stick around, kid.”

“I’m sticking,” I assured them.

The server set a basket of olive oil–drizzled garlic bread on the table between us, then rattled off the day’s specials. The restaurant the guys had selected had two menus: Italian and Greek.

Like most Manhattan eateries, the location was small and the tables packed tightly together, close enough that one party flowed into the next and you had to watch your elbows. The scents flowing out of the kitchen and wafting from the trays of passing servers had my stomach growling audibly. Thankfully the noise from the lunch crowd frenzy was loud enough to cover me.

Steven ran a hand through the bright red hair many women would kill for. “I’m having the moussaka.”

“Me, too.” I closed my menu.

“Pepperoni pizza for me,” Mark said.

Steven and I teased him about being adventurous.

“Hell,” he shot back, “marrying Steven is adventure enough.”

Grinning, Steven set his elbow on the table and his chin on his fist. “So, Eva . . . how’d Cross propose? I’m guessing he didn’t blurt it out in the middle of the street.”

Mark, who was sitting on the bench seat next to his partner, gave him an exasperated look.