Page 33 of Torrid Love
“He just wanted to talk,” I shrug. She frowns and shoots me a side glare. “What?”
“It looked like a lot more to me.”
“You’re making too much of it.”
“You’re bullshitting me.”
“Did you end up hooking up with Roark?” I divert.
“Don’t think I don’t see right through you!” she waves a warning finger at me.
“Just curious to find out if you were able to cross off another item from your sex-bucket list,” I offer a devious grin.
“No cock on my birthday. Roark came over and wished me a happy birthday. The next thing I know, he was walking out the door. Men? At least Rod cares enough to make a fuss. Roark barely acknowledged me. It was clear he was wearing his executive hat. He wasn’t there as my former lover,” she lets out a long sigh. “So, back to you and Rod.” Zoe’s eyes are bright and eager for details.
“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” I stress again.
“Spare me the canned response. You were practically spitting fire at Clemensia––not that I blame you.”
I don’t respond.
“Even in my semi-drunken stupor, I could tell there was more than met the eye. Everyone at my party saw what was going on between the two of you. There was something very caveman-ish about the whole thing. FYI, very sexy. Very possessive. Verycaliente!”
I still remain quiet.
“Listen, Dom, I know we aren’t best friends, but if you want to talk, I’m here.”
I ponder over her offer.
It’s not like I can reveal any of this to Isobel. Truthfully, I’d welcome a sounding board.
“Let’s order some food first,” I say.
* * *
The Griddle Café isn’t called LA’s king of pancakes for nothing. I couldn’t finish more than a third of my frisbee-sized berry-delicious pancake stack. Zoe doesn’t fare much better with her Oreo-flavored one.
“Good God, I always forget how huge these are,” she says, pushing her plate away. “Who finishes a full portion?”
“You should try coming here with Rod and Roark after they’ve hit the gym. Not only can they polish off the stack of three enormous pancakes, but they also each order a three-egg omelet with extra sausage and bacon.”
“Men. They can eat their faces off. So unfair,” she pouts.
“I’m used to it by now. It was more jaw-dropping when I was traveling on the road with Rod and his bandmates. Some nights, you’d think they were going to eat the restaurant out of business.”
“I still can’t get over the fact you knew Rod well before he became a sensation. Was he always this hot—and impetuous—even as a teenager?”
I’m unable to contain my smile. Even in my confused mess, a wave of affection washes over me. “The Wolfe brothers are clueless to the awkward teen years the rest of us know intimately. I’ve seen plenty of photos of Rory and Roark when they were young and they’re as handsome back then as they are now.”
“What a gene pool,” Zoe says.
“Tell me about it. While most of us burnt––or buried––our high school photos for fear of embarrassment, the Wolfe brothers looked supremely confident and self-assured. It hasn’t changed much.”
“Is their father as handsome?”
“He wasn’t in the picture,” I say simply.
“I see. Well, their mom did a great job.”
