Page 50 of Guy's Girl
“Finally,” says Tristan. “I can’t believe he stayed an extra day just to work. He’s not even in finance anymore.”
Adrian.
Adrian is coming. Ginny feels a pinch of nerves at the base of her stomach. It’s subtle—not the anxious clamp from months before. But then, nothing has been the same since Finch.
Her relationship with Finch is nothing like her relationship was with Adrian. There are no long silences. No sitting around, wondering what the other person is thinking. They tell each other everything. They tell each other too much. Adrian is like a faraway dream. She can’t believe she ever cried over him. How could she have thought that what they had was passion? How could she have thought it was love?
Still. That doesn’t mean she isn’t nervous to see him.
“Should I get the grill going?” Clay asks. At twenty-four, Ginny and her friends love playing at adulthood—drinking wine, cooking their own dinners. Living in a house that belongs to one of their fathers.
“Sure.” Tristan stands, placing his red wine down on the table. “Let’s pick out the meats.”
Clay and Tristan head for the French doors that lead into the main house. After they’re out of view, Finch twists to face Ginny. “So,” he says. “Adrian.”
She brushes an invisible hair from her arm. “What about him?”
“Think you guys will hook up this week?”
She lowers her hand and looks out at the sunset. “Maybe.”
“I see.”
This is it. The game they play—each pretending to care less what the other person does.How well can I feign nonchalance? How far can I push you away before we come crashing back together?
It’s toxic. It’s destructive.
Ginny is completely addicted.
Pebbles crunch under the Suburban’s tires as they pull into the driveway. Adrian peers out the windshield. Towering well above them is what he can only describe as a villa that should be occupied by the Godfather: stucco walls; bay windows; a grand entryway with double doors; and a snug, east-facing breakfast patio.
Adrian cannot believe this house is where he’s going to spend the next week.
The driver puts the Suburban in park. Adrian pushes open the side door, letting twilight filter inside. As he steps out into the pebbled driveway, a clatter sounds from over by the house, and he looks over to find the double doors swinging wide.
“Dude!” Clay jogs out first, red hair flopping about. “You made it.”
Adrian grins as Clay pulls him into a hug. “Just barely.”
“Walt working you hard?”
“You know he’s been dead for, like, fifty years, right?”
Clay heads for the trunk to grab Adrian’s suitcase. “Doesn’t mean he isn’t sending directives down to the C-suite from the great beyond.”
“Nah.” Adrian shoulders his backpack. “It’ll be Gates who figures that one out.”
“The latest release: Microsoft Afterlife.”
“Outlook Beyond.”
“Are you two idiots starting a business without me?” calls a voice from the doorway. They look over to find Tristan leaning against the marble doorframe, glass of red wine in hand.
“We would never dream of it,” says Adrian.
“Good.” Tristan pushes off the frame and walks over to his friends. “Because you would be hopelessly lost without my financial wisdom.”
“I’m sure we would be.”
