Page 25 of False God

Fran reaches for a slice of bread. “He’s taken.”

The stab of disappointment is unexpected and uncomfortable. “Oh.”

“Really?” Jasper sounds highly skeptical.

“That’s what he said. I asked if he wanted to join us for a drink, and he said he was meeting his family for dinner.”

I glance at where Charlie was standing. He’s still in the same spot, now talking to a white-haired man, a middle-aged woman with blonde hair, and the same guy he told I was a vapid heiress.

“So, I suggested we get a drink later,” Fran continues. “And he said he wasn’t available.” She sighs. “I swear, all the hot ones are taken.”

“Excuse me?” Hugo says.

Tripp and Jasper appear equally offended.

All three of them are single.

Fran flicks a few careless fingers in Hugo’s direction. “You don’t count. I’m not going to fuck you. We all saw how that worked out for …” She glances at me. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say, filling the uncomfortable pause with a hasty gulp of my mezcal drink.

Now, I’m extra glad Cal didn’t come.

“Holy fuck,” Bridget says, scrolling on her phone. “Heishot.”

“I know.” Fran sounds mournful. “We’re going to have to hit Proof after this to restore my ego.”

Tripp leans to see the screen of Bridget’s phone. Snorts. “Yeah. No way he’s not single.”

“What do you mean?” Fran is trying to look at the screen now, too, and I have to fight the urge to crane my neck as well.

“Guy who’s gotten aroundthatmuch—and these are just the women he’s been photographed with? He’s either gay and in the closet or single. No way he’s in a committed relationship.”

“He’s not gay,” I blurt.

Everyone’s looking at me now.

“How do you know?” Bridget asks, lifting one eyebrow.

“I just do. Talking to him, there’s … rizz.” I don’t know how better to describe the buzzing sensation I experience around Charlie.

“I agree,” Fran pipes in with. “He’s definitely straight.”

“So, it was you,” Hugo concludes. “You probably came off as too high maintenance again.”

Fran tosses a chunk of sourdough at him.

Hugo catches the bread and takes a huge bite, grinning around it. “Nice throw.”

The waitress appears to take our order.

I continue rubbing the raised lines on the front of the menu, the bread, water, and mezcal in my stomach churning around unpleasantly. Mom wanted to stop by rouge’s offices after we leftHaute, and I barely had time to change before rushing here.

Bridget leans into me. “Chase said the salmon and the steak are the best entrées.”

“I’m thinking oysters and charcuterie for appetizers?” Tripp suggests.

“Can we do rosé for the table?” Fran asks. “I want something summery.”

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