Page 9 of One Night with My Lawyers
Fuck.
7
ADDIE
Ifall asleep to the memory of their voices ordering me around. Theo's slow smile when he took my panties. Shane’s hooded, enigmatic gaze. I fall asleep fantasizing about taking their cocks in my mouth, my hands tied behind my back, and I sleep well.Reallywell. Unexpectedly,shockinglywell.
Even better, I wake up energized, itching to write. Praise the Lord and pass the laptop; this hasn’t happened in months.Years.I don’t question this unanticipated, deeply welcome gift. I immediately make myself a pillowed nest on the bed, mute the notifications on my phone, order room service for breakfast, and lose myself to the story.
I write forhours.A lot of it is garbage. I am incredibly rusty. The words certainly don't flow out of me with ease. It feels like I’m pushing a rock uphill in the snow. Writing a novel isn't like riding a bike; it doesn't just come back. All I have to guide me through the thicket of self-doubt is the knowledge that I’ve done it before. But as the day goes on, it gets better. It’s not all bad; there’s good stuff mixed in with the crap.
I finally emerge from my frenzy when the muscles in my neck scream in pain, and I can no longer ignore them. I glanceat the time and blink in confusion because it’s five-thirty in the evening. Oh wow. I ate a flaky croissant for breakfast, and I haven’t eaten since. No wonder my stomach is grumbling.
Tacos. I want them. I need them. I’veearnedthem. There’s a great little place, Taco Gus, that’s a thirty-minute drive away. Elliot and I would stop there on the way to the club. That thought would normally send a spike of grief through me, but today, I’m buoyed by a sense of accomplishment. Not even my nerves about tonight can bring me down.
Wait. Tonight. Shane and Theo will be here in an hour and a half, damn it. We’re having dinner in my room. Which means more room service from a menu that does not have tacos on it.
Have I said I really want tacos? The al pastor at Taco Gus isamazing. I think about the slices of marinated pork, the pickled onions, the pineapple jalapeno salsa, and my stomach growls louder. And now I have to give up my meal of choice because of my dinner plans? Dinner plans I didn’t want to make?
Ugh.
Hang on. We exchanged phone numbers last night. I should handle this like an adult. I pick up my phone and text Theo.
I haven’t eaten all day, and I have a taco craving. Can we change things up?
He calls me back right away. “You haven’t eaten all day?” he asks. “You must be starving. You want to move dinner up?”
Theo has a deep, warm voice. The British accent is catnip, of course, but it’s more than that. On the phone, Theo sounds steady and kind and concerned. A blanket. A cocoon?—
No. Oh, no, no, no. No more cocoons for Addie. That shit is in the past.
“It won’t kill me to miss a meal,” I say. “But yes. There’s a taco place I like?—”
“An actual restaurant?” His tone turns teasing. “How exciting.”
I realize I’m smiling and force a frown on my face. “Don’t get carried away. It’s a hole in the wall.”
“When do you want to leave?”
Theo and Shanewore bespoke suits last night. I thought they would stick out like sore thumbs in a place like Taco Gus, but to my surprise, they fit right in. It helps that they’re dressed much more casually today. Theo is wearing a cream cable-knit sweater and faded jeans. He looks like Chris Evans inKnives Out.
Shane doesn’t seem to feel the cold. The long sleeves of his navy-blue T-shirt are pushed up to the elbows. He studies the laminated menu for a minute and then sets it down. “What’s good here?”
“I usually get the al pastor. That’s marinated pork. If you eat beef, the carne asada is amazing. They have a rotating vegetarian special, and every time I’ve gotten it, it’s been delicious.”
Shane looks amused by my enthusiasm. “Got it,” he says. “Everything is good.”
We decide what we want and head to the counter to order. I haven’t been here in years, but nothing’s changed. The walls are turquoise blue, and a Mexican flag is pinned to the wall behind the counter. A giant painting of Frida Kahlo dominates the dining space, her expression serious. I’ve always imagined that she’s frowning disapprovingly at my food choices. Across from Frida, there’s a small advent calendar, which brings back childhood memories. I haven’t seen one in forever, but I used to love them as a kid.
Taco Gus is run by a husband-and-wife team. Liliana is nowhere to be seen, but Hugo recognizes me and smiles widely.“Addie,” he booms, and then his smile fades. “I’m so sorry about Elliot.”
“Thank you, Hugo.” Liliana and Hugo had sent flowers when Elliot died. They didn’t have to—Elliot and I ate here a lot, but we were by no means their most loyal customers. It was so kind of them. “I’ve missed your tacos.”
“You’ll have the usual? Al pastor?”
I haven’t been here for years, and he remembers my order. “Yes, please.”
Theo orders the al pastor too. Shane orders a plate of the carne asada and also two zucchini tacos. “I’m hungry,” he says in explanation. “And everything smells delicious.”
