Page 69 of The Cartographer

He snorts a laugh and squirms. “No, I definitely do not. What do you usually tell people?”

“I’ve been all sorts of things. Life coach, attorney, film producer, journalist, personal assistant… I can impersonate all of those reasonably well. Just stay away from anything sports-related or telling anyone I’m a medical professional. Otherwise, have at it.”

I purposefully don’t mention the time I faked being a drug kingpin as I don’t think that would be appreciated in this company.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. It’s actually quite entertaining, dressing up for a day, pretending to be someone I’m not. However, you may want to consider exactly how long you expect this charade to last.”

As soon as the word is out of my mouth, I regret it.

“Hart, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s fine, I know what you meant.” I have no doubt he does, but I’m sorry nonetheless. “I think I’ll stick with life coach.”

“How we met is already meet-cute material so you needn’t worry about that.”

“True. Makes you look like a good guy, and they already know I’m hopeless at mixing drinks.”

“So it’s settled. Give me the details and I’ll make it happen.”

Before I can do anything else, Allie’s up on his hands and knees, stripping the sheet away from my body and leaning over my lap. As his tongue licks over the jut of my hipbone, I start to get hard, and he takes me in his mouth. Had I known he’d be so grateful I would’ve offered to meet the family a lot sooner.

*

Hart seems nervousas we pull up to his sister’s house. It’s one of those small California bungalows that sits close to its neighbors behind chain link fences. I can already hear the voices bubbling out from the backyard, and it sounds like everyone’s deep into their good time. And maybe some beer.

I’d asked Hart what I should bring to the party, and he’d looked at me sideways. “If you want to bring something, you have to make it yourself. I don’t want Matty making something out ofJulia Child.”

“I’m insulted you think I can’t cook,” I’d sniffed, though he has no reason to know I’m actually quite handy in the kitchen. “Maybe a bottle of wine?”

“This is a beer crowd, Walter. None of those fancy-ass microbrews either. We like our beer to actually taste like beer.”

In the end, I couldn’t do it. So a carefully sealed container of sangria is sitting on the floor of the backseat. White wine, peaches, blueberries, Cointreau, and some lemon-lime soda. It’s not bad if I do say so myself, and Hart had grudgingly admitted it was good. After he’d also given reluctant approval to my outfit.

“There isn’t going to be a valet there or passed hors d’oeuvres. Jeans, okay? And those sneakers you wore when you showed up to watch the game. Scuff them up before because I know you haven’t worn them since, and they almost blinded me, dude.”

I’d huffed, but the truth is I hadn’t worn the sneakers since that memorable night. I’ve been wearing them around everywhere I can get away with for a week, much to Matthew’s amusement. Now they’re on my feet, with the requested jeans and a polo shirt.

Hart’s looking quite fine in a Raiders jersey and jeans, even if he’d seemed twitchy, drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel of his truck as he drove and singing under his breath to songs I don’t recognize on a radio station I’ve never listened to.

We walk toward the house, and Hart doesn’t bother to knock, just walks right in and is soon accosted by two small people, a boy who looks so much like Allie and Kendra I can’t get even a hint of what his father must’ve looked like, and a girl who’s got their same smile, but different shaped eyes that I match to a man in some photographs hanging on the walls and sitting on a sideboard. I’ve thought before that must be Lamar, and now I have proof.

It’s a wonder Allie hasn’t toppled over from the children’s enthusiasm, but instead he scoops each of them under an arm and turns to me.

“This rascal is Marcus, and this little troublemaker is Imani. Guys, this is my friend Rey.”

A tiny chorus of “Hi, Rey!” makes me laugh and wave with my hand that’s not keeping the sangria safe. “Nice to meet you. Your uncle talks about you all the time. I hear you both play a mean game ofApples to Apples. Maybe you’d like to trounce me later?”

They cheer and then squirm until Allie puts them down, sending them racing off toward the backyard. I find a place to put the sangria down and then follow Allie through the house and out to the backyard. The game won’t start for a couple of hours so everyone’s out here, chatting and laughing and eating.

That’s what I’d also like to be doing to because the food smells amazing. Manners first, though. Hart introduces me around. I shake a lot of hands, smile at a lot of people, commit their names and faces to memory because that’s something I’m good at. Not like how I’ll be less than useless once the…puck drops? No, that’s hockey. First pitch is baseball, tip-off is basketball, but that sounds closer…kick-off. Yes. One less way for me to make an ass of myself.

Kendra greets me with a hug. After we say our hellos, she gives her brother a meaningful look that embarrasses him, and she shoves us in the direction of the food. I’m only too happy to oblige, picking up a bit of everything until my plate is beyond full.

“Dude, are you going to eat all that?”

“I am. Then I’m going to come back and get a bite of everything I missed.”

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