P.S. You’re Intolerable: Chapter 8

LUCA ROLLED INTO THE gym thirty minutes after Weston and me, but that wasn’t anything new. Even though he was a married man and had recently taken over as CEO of his family’s motorcycle company, Rossi Motors, he’d always have a healthy dose of carefree partier as part of his personality, and I didn’t mind at all.

It was why our three-way friendship functioned so well. Luca balanced us out. Weston and I had a tendency to get lost in our work, and we both veered to the side of way too fucking serious. Then again, neither of us had grown up in stable environments, and we’d had to make our own way. When Luca had entered the picture in college, he’d smacked off our blinders, so we finally saw the world around us. It wasn’t all books and studying.

Luca Rossi was fucking fun. All suave looks and smooth moves, he could talk his way in and out of anything. We’d had some adventures back then, forging a bond that still held strong, though we’d all grown up in the years since.

It was why, despite our busy lives and multitude of responsibilities, we met at a private gym several times a week before work.

Luca hopped on the treadmill beside Weston, who’d been updating me on the efforts to restructure the corporate level of his outdoor clothing company, Andes.

“Welcome, Rossi,” Weston intoned.

Luca flashed a not-guilty grin. “Why thank you.”

“Nice of you to join us.” I was on Weston’s other side, powering through my third mile.

“I have a valid excuse for running late today.”

I eyed Luca’s reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room. “This should be good. Don’t leave us in suspense.”

Luca pressed some buttons on his treadmill, upping his pace. “Saoirse let Clementine into our room last night.”

Weston’s brow lowered as he jogged at an even pace. “Wait. Does the cat watch you”—he lowered his voice, though there were only a few people around—“fuck? I don’t think I could perform—”

My hand shot up. “If you care for me in any way, don’t finish that sentence. I don’t want to know a single detail about your performance when it involves my sister unless it’s Shakespeare. And even then, I might not want to know.”

Weston chuckled. “Noted. All I’ll say is I wouldn’t let a cat in my bedroom.”

Luca shrugged easily. “We let her in…after. And to be quite frank, Clementine doesn’t give a shit what we’re doing. She gets pissed if the bed jostles too much, but all she does is meow her opinion of us and go to her cat bed in the corner.”

“I’m not a cat person,” I said.

Luca chuckled. “No shit. I’m not sure you could keep a small mammal alive if you tried.”

“I don’t plan on trying, so there will be no testing that theory.”

Weston slapped Luca’s bicep with the back of his hand. “None of what you just said explains why you were running late this morning.”

“I was getting to that.” Luca hit Weston in retaliation. “I woke up to my cat sitting on my chest, staring at me.”

Chills ran through me. “Yeah, I’m really not a cat person.”

Luca and Saoirse’s cat was fine. Mildly cute even. But she just…walked all over their apartment, demanded attention, and the two of them got off on watching her sleep in a sling attached to their window. I’d stopped by their place recently, and they’d spent most of the visit staring at the damn cat, whose tail occasionally twitched. That was it. She didn’t even chase a laser beam or anything mildly impressive.

I didn’t get it, but Luca and Saoirse were thrilled by their strange life with their orange cat, so I let them have it. Just because I didn’t understand didn’t mean I wasn’t fiercely enjoying their happiness.

“Anyway,” Luca went on, “Clem started making biscuits on my face.”

“Speak people talk, Rossi,” Weston admonished. “No one knows what you’re saying.”

“I don’t know, Saoirse says it’s a thing. She informed me the internet calls it making biscuits when cats knead like they would on their mom to get milk,” Luca explained.

“So, your cat was kneading your face, trying to milk you?” I asked.

“And this is why you were late?” Weston added.

“Yes, and yes. Saoirse thought it was cute, so I let it happen. And because I let it happen, my wife was extremely happy with me, so…”

He trailed off, and the blanks did not need to be filled in.

Happy wife, happy life. The old adage seemed to be holding true in Luca’s case.

“The most valid reason you’ve given for being late,” Weston said.

“Damn straight.” Luca chuckled. “And it’s why Elliot’s always on time everywhere.”

I huffed. “Really, Rossi? Bragging is unbecoming, and I’m not late because I choose not to be. It has nothing to do with who is or isn’t in my bed in the mornings.”

He held his hands up. “It wasn’t a brag. I was answering a question.”

Weston cocked his head my way. “It’s not like you don’t have the opportunity, so it’s difficult to pity your celibacy.”

“Celibacy? That’s a gross exaggeration.” I slowed my treadmill to a fast walk.

“What’s it called when you don’t even try to get laid for months?” Luca asked.

“It’s called being busy and a shift of priorities. Unlike the two of you, getting off has never been my ultimate goal.”

Luca and Weston may have been devoted to their women now, but they’d spent many years sowing, and sowing, and sowing their wild oats. While I was no monk, I’d never had the urge to spread my seed as far and wide as they did. And as I got older, meaningless hookups became less and less worth the effort.

But celibate, I was not. I loved to fuck, but my time and attention were currently being taken by other things. Picking up a woman in a bar didn’t hold any attraction to me at the moment.

Luca waggled his brows. “World domination is a lot more fun with a beautiful woman by your side.”

“Life in general,” Weston agreed.

I hit the stop button on my treadmill and wiped my sweaty forehead off with a towel.

“While I appreciate the two of you are happy as clams now that you’re wifed up, I don’t need any help in that area.” I tossed the towel over my shoulder. “Once I get the Rockford project launched—”

“You’re still calling it that?” Weston asked.

“Yes.” I grimaced slightly. I tried not to think about Donald Rockford when referring to his former property, but it was almost impossible since it still bore his name. “It’s temporary. Catherine helped me rename the Singapore property a few months back. Her instincts are in line with mine, so I emailed her a list of possibilities for Rockford, but she hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”

“She’s still working?” Luca counted on his fingers. “Isn’t she due soon?”

“In a week, though medicine hasn’t advanced enough to give a definite day. It’s all approximate,” I answered.

“And that annoys you,” Luca guessed.

“Absolutely. Why the fuck can’t they pin down a concrete date?” I shook my head. “It’s absolute chaos.”

Weston met my eyes as I sat on the leg press. “You have a replacement for her?”

I nodded. “A temp. A new graduate from CU. Catherine’s training him, and he seems fairly competent.”

“But he’s no Catherine,” Weston filled in.

“No one is.”

My statement floated there for a long stretch. Luca and Weston exchanged glances, and I understood why. I had a bad habit of losing my assistants. Some quit, others were fired. Catherine held the record for keeping the position the longest, and I didn’t see myself giving her up unless she wanted out.

We’d see once she became a mother. It was possible I’d no longer have access to her time and devoted attention like I was used to, and I didn’t know how I’d cope with that.

But that was a bridge I’d cross only when I had to.

“Did you get her a gift?” Luca asked.

“I did.”

I didn’t have a strong need to tell them how badly I’d botched the first gift. The card to the spa hadn’t been intended as a maternity present, which had been my first mistake. I’d noticed how tired and slow she’d been lately and thought she’d appreciate a massage or whatever treatment she chose. Elise always liked that type of thing.

Luca narrowed his eyes. “Was it something enticing enough to draw her back to her job after maternity leave?”

It had never occurred to me I should have given her a baby gift. Not until I heard her talking to Davida. Missing details like that was unlike me, but then again, babies and pregnant women weren’t exactly my expertise.

I really disliked failing, even at gift giving. I was actually ashamed I’d messed up so spectacularly. It was lucky for me Catherine had laid out exactly what she’d wanted. At least I’d gotten it right on the second try.

“We’ll have to wait and see.”