IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(22)

It was a bullshit question. I’d already heard from him the same way I had from Yvonne. Everyone on the Grange team was thrilled with the information and happy to complete the acquisition. Thankfully, Nigel took the opportunity to gush about it rather than questioning me.

“Of course. Isn’t this exciting? I’ve spoken to Karen in operations and she…” He droned on about next steps once the terms of the agreement had been settled, and I had to admit to tuning him out a bit. One and a half ears were on Conor and James’s conversation with Yvonne about hiking parts of the Appalachian Trail.

“Mr. Grange has experience hiking the AT, don’t you, Wells?” Yvonne asked.

I noticed Conor’s eyes widen in surprise. “Really?” he asked.

“Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t born into an Armani suit,” I replied. “I have been outside of the city, you know.”

Conor’s face softened into a teasing smile. “Are you sure about that? Because you looked awfully comfortable slipping cash to the ma?tre d’ here. That’s not something a North Carolina boy learns how to do.”

I felt my own cheeks stretching. “I’m a man of many talents. Some of them happen to include retiring several beloved pairs of Vasque Sundowners, believe it or not.”

“Ah, the classic boot,” he said with a chuckle.

“And which do you wear?”

“Depends on the trail and conditions. Most quick hikes around home, I actually wear a pair of trail running shoes. I don’t have ankle problems, and they’re lighter and quicker. If I’m doing something extreme, I wear my Scarpas. Do you backpack too?”

I leaned back and took a sip of wine before responding. “Haven’t in many years.”

“Too busy working?”

The question came from Conor, but James scoffed in response. As if he knew me. I ignored him.

“I’ve chosen to take my vacations other places,” I said, trying not to grit my teeth.

Conor opened his mouth to speak, but James beat him to the punch. “What’s been your favorite spot?”

I thought back to something I’d read about Conor’s college semester in Peru.

“Machu Picchu.”

Conor’s entire face lit up, which almost caused me to spill my drink.

“Really? I love Machu Picchu! When were you there? Oh my god, I spent a—” He seemed to recall who he was talking to and reined in his enthusiasm a little bit. “I mean, I like it too. Saw it in college. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I met his eyes. “Yes. Very beautiful.”

“I’d love to go back sometime. I always wanted to take my mom.” Conor hesitated, like he’d been about to say more but had reconsidered.

There was a beat of awkward silence before James picked up the conversation in his stead. “Speaking of the Appalachian Trail—that reminds me of the most ridiculous date I ever went on. Conor, did I ever tell you about Anthony’s Nose?”

“Who’s Anthony? And I don’t think you’ve told me about anyone’s nose,” he said, crinkling his own.

“No, it’s a hike. Part of the AT, actually, nearby in Hudson Valley,” James corrected with a warm smile. “I took a date on a hike there one time and it was a disaster.”

James glanced at me before he continued. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the guy is a total sweetheart, but he’s a bit of a bad-luck charm, really. He has the worst luck in dating of anyone I know.”

Conor leaned forward to take an olive from an antipasto tray that had just been delivered. “What happened on the hike?”

“It started off okay. I picked him up from his place in Brooklyn, and we headed out of the city. This was several years ago. It was early fall, and I was looking forward to seeing if any of the trees had changed yet.”

He took a sip of the cocktail he’d ordered and continued. “I’d rented a Zipcar, and I want to say it was like a little Ford Focus or something. I wasn’t super familiar with it, but I was driving just fine. As we crossed the George Washington Bridge, he decides to change the radio station. No big deal, right? He leans over to fiddle with he knob and somehow loses his balance, falling into my lap and knocking my arm and the steering wheel.”

“Shit,” Conor chuckled. “Did you wreck?”

James nodded, grinning. “I swerved toward the oncoming traffic, but there was a cement barrier there. My date panicked when he saw the barrier, so he grabbed the wheel and yanked it toward the opposite side instead.”

I frowned. This story was beginning to sound familiar somehow.

“But then he realized the opposite side was the damned Hudson River, so he yanked again. At this point, I was screaming at him to let go and fighting to keep his hands off the wheel. Cars were honking and screeching to a stop around us. It all happened so fast. In the end, we’d sideswiped three other vehicles, the center barricade, and clipped off the side mirror on one of the big metal tubes that make up the right-hand side.”

“That’s terrible. The poor guy. He must have been mortified,” Yvonne said with a laugh.

“No, that’s just the beginning,” James said. At this point he was regaling the entire table with the tale. His cultured voice carried across the rest of us without sounding like he was making an effort. “It seems there were witnesses to the preceding events, and when the police arrived on the scene, two different parties informed them that the cause of the accident had been my ‘boyfriend’ performing ‘sex acts’ that led to my loss of control.” He’d used finger quotes to imply the date had been neither his boyfriend nor administering oral pleasure at the time.