Page 19 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

Miles shoots me a look with his eyebrows raised to silently say ‘Get a load of this guy’. I press my lips together, fighting a grin, and follow Miles around the desk and through a dark blue, velvet curtain that matches the armchairs out front.

On the other side of the curtain is a room with a similar vibe. Centered against one wall is another leather couch with a gold side table at either end. The tables are topped with a black disc that looks like it might be marble. Off to one side is a raised, circular platform with a three-sided mirror. To the other side are three curtains and directly to my right is a door of dark wood marked ‘Private’.

“My name is Luca,” says the receptionist. “Can I get you anything to drink? We have several rare whiskeys, wines, or-”

“Just water, please,” I interrupt. I don’t want to be rude, but I definitely can’t drink with my nerves this way.

“Two,” says Miles.

Luca nods and disappears through the private door while Miles sits on the couch and spreads one arm out along the back.

“This is way too fancy,” I mutter, taking another visual scan of the room.

“You can afford it,” Miles assures me. I know he’s right. He knows he’s right.

“That’s not the point. This isn’t me.”

“It could be,” he offers. “Man, I know how much you hate this whole attention thing, but I promise you that your dates will thank you for looking like you give a shit. They’ll thankme.” He holds a hand over his chest for emphasis.

Luca reappears and hands each of us a glass bottle of water.

“Moira will be with you shortly. Make yourselves at home.”

As he walks away, I call out.

“My sister may join us. Her name is Isla. She can come back whenever she gets here.”

Luca doesn’t turn, but I see him nod. I suppose that’ll do.

“You invited Isla?” asks Miles with genuine shock.

“I didn’t mean to,” I grumble, taking a seat next to him and while I open my water.

“So, why did you?”

“Should I tell her not to come?”

“Oh no. We need her opinion. I’m just surprised.” Miles shrugs, completely at ease in this space. Jealousy forms a knot in my throat.

A few minutes later, the private door opens again and I glimpse a short hallway behind a petite woman with short, curly black hair. She grins when her brown eyes land on Miles, her dark red lips standing out starkly against her pale skin.

“I cannotbelieveyou got him here,” she laughs, approaching us.

Miles and I both stand. I hold out my hand, opening my mouth to introduce myself, but Moira–I assume it’s Moira–pulls me into a hug stronger than I would expect for someone her size. I grunt as the air is pushed from my lungs, my hand stuck awkwardly between us.

“Down, girl,” Miles laughs.

“Sorry.” She backs away and I smile timidly. “I’m Moira. Obviously,” she adds. “Miles has told me a lot about you.”

I turn to raise an eyebrow, but Miles shrugs and focuses his gaze on the woman in front of me.

“Where’s mine?” He holds his arms out, but Moira walks past him to a table beside the mirror.

“You haven’t joined us for Sunday brunch in a month. No hugs for brunch dodgers.” She glares at Miles, but a smile plays on her lips.

“I’ve been busy.” Miles falls back onto the couch.

“Excuses, excuses.” Moira turns her eyes on me. “So, what are we doing for you today, Mr. Torrence?”

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