Page 3 of From Coast to Coast
“Have you?”
“No”—he shrugs—“but I’m married to the sexiest woman in the world. Why would I look elsewhere?”
“Amanda is sexy,” I say loyally.
“So was that woman you were with when you couldn’t cross the finish. And you never answered the question.”
“I mean, I guess I’ve felt curious before. But not a burning sort of interest—more a clinical one. Like, when I see two men kissing, I might wonder a little bit. But that’s not because I want them to kiss me. It’s more like a…I don’t know, Alex, I just know I’m not gay. I’m not.”
“I didn’t say you were gay, and I’m sorry, are you some sort of homophobe? Why are you getting so defensive?”
“Of course I’m not,” I reply, stung. “I’m defensive because you’re attacking me.”
“I’m not attacking you, Drama Queen.”
“What are you doing, then? Trying to make me feelmoreguilty about my failed marriage?”
“You know that’s not it. I’m just offering a viable option that you might not have considered. Remy, the only long-term relationship you’ve had is with your now ex-wife. You just told me you’ve stopped getting any gratification from sex. You’re in a self-admitted slump—maybe going outside of your comfort zone is the way to get over that.”
“And you think I should do that by fucking the same sex instead of buying padded handcuffs?”
“Try the handcuffs first.” He shrugs. “And if that doesn’t work…”
He leaves the tail end of that sentence dangling suggestively. I sigh. “That doesn’t really seem fair, Alex. Pick up a guy specifically to experiment? Isn’t that kind of messed up?”
“Christ, man, have you never heard of dating apps? You could put ‘straight man wanting to experiment’ in your profile and I guarantee you’ll still get hits.”
“Maybe,” I say, mostly to get him off of my back and not because I’m really giving the idea any real consideration.
“Something to contemplate.”
“This is sort of a weird thing to spring on me,” I muse, fiddling with a shot glass. “Have you been thinking about this for a while?”
In answer, he slips off of his stool and takes our empty glasses to the bar for a refill. I stare after him before sliding my gaze over to the group of women. They’re beautiful in the way that most women in California are beautiful—tan, slim, and well-groomed. Little cardboard cutouts of each other. I will myself to perk up at the sight of the tight clothing and pretty faces, and am annoyed when I fail.
CHAPTER TWO
Grayson
Andrei Zolkov talksinto his phone in a dizzying stream of Russian, waving expansively as though the person on the other end can see him. I know better than to assume he’s as angry as he sounds—Russian, no matter the tone used, always sounds particularly violent. When he hangs up, I glance over at him.
“Good?” I ask.
“Is fine.” He waves his hand and rolls his eyes. “You would not understand.”
“Ah.” I smirk. “Women problems?”
“Always.” He sighs, and punctuates this eye roll with a shake of his head.
“I had no idea so many Russian women lived in Calgary,” I muse, and he waves his hand again, letting loose another torrent of Russian. “Pretty soon you’ll have to look further away.”
“Aye. Maybe take a break. I shall become you—a monk.”
Pulling into the parking lot, I send a glare his way. He pretends not to notice, turning to look out the window.
“I’m not a monk, I’m…discerning.”
“This word means being alone forever?”