“Still, that’s a tough job,” I point out. “He must have been traveling all the frickin’ time.”
“He was. That part sucked, how often he was away. But Mom and I coped. After she died, Dad would take me with him when he could, but most of the time I stayed with my aunt in Queens.”
“Is he retired now?”
She stiffens slightly. “Yeah. He is.” Another pause. “So what are you doing for Thanksgiving? Where are you from again? Connecticut?”
“Yup. Greenwich. And Manhattan. My family split our time between the two, but I went to high school in Connecticut.”
“Prep school,” she corrects.
I tweak her hair. “Still considered high school.”
“Sure, but I bet you got a ton more perks there than I did at Washington Public in Brooklyn. You spoiled brat.” I can hear in her voice that she’s teasing. “And you didn’t answer what you’re doing for the holiday.”
“I’m not sure yet,” I admit. “Timing wise, I’m kinda screwed. We play Harvard two days after Thanksgiving.”
“So? Greenwich isn’t that far from here. Neither is Manhattan. You can hop a train or flight to either and still be back in time for the game.”
“My family won’t be in Greenwich or Manhattan. They’ll be at the house in St. Bart’s.”
Allie sits up again, her mouth agape. Then she starts to laugh. “Well lah-di-dah.” In the next breath, she affects a flawless British accent. “Why, yes, dear boy, my family does indeed own a home in St. Bart’s. Fahtha is an avid sailor, and Mutha simply adores sipping mimosas on our private beach.”
I poke her in the side. “You’re just jealous.”
“Of course I am. You have a house in St. Bart’s. That’s badass.” Her expression is thoughtful. “Your parents are lawyers, right?”
I nod.
“I didn’t realize lawyers made tropical-island-beach-house kind of money.”
“It depends on the lawyer. My dad is one of the top criminal defense attorneys in the country, so yeah, he’s doing all right,” I say wryly. “And Mom specializes in real estate law, which is also pretty lucrative. But they both came from money, too.”
“Let me guess. Grandpas Sebastian and Kendrick were oil barons?”
For some reason, I’m stupidly pleased that she remembered my middle names. “Nope, there’s no oil in our family. Grandpa Seb owned a shipping company. Well, he still owns it, but a board of directors runs it now. And Gramps Kendrick was a real estate developer.”
“Like Donald Trump?”
“Pretty much. Did you ever go into Manhattan when you lived in Brooklyn?” I frown as something occurs to me. “Hey, how come you don’t have the Brooklyn accent?”
“Neither of my parents was originally from New York, so maybe that’s why? Dad’s from Ohio. Mom grew up in California. I talk like them, I guess. Anyway, of course I’ve been to Manhattan—do you think I spent my days hiding under the Brooklyn Bridge like a troll?”
I snicker. “Ever spend any time on the Upper East Side?”
“Sure. I had a friend who lived—” Her eyes widen. “Holy shit. Heyward Plaza. I just put that together.”
The awe on her face makes me grin.
“You own the Heyward Plaza Hotel?” Allie exclaims.
“Me, personally? No. But I suppose I might inherit it one day. My mom’s side of the family, the Heywards, owns real estate all over the globe. Hotels mostly, but we’ve got this cool condominium in Abu Dhabi that’s basically made entirely of glass. It’s—”
“Okay, you need to stop talking now because you’re making me want to punch you. I honestly didn’t realize you were this rich. I’m not sure if it’s a turn-on or a ladyboner-killer.”
“Turn-on,” I say instantly. “Everything about me turns you on, remember?”
She snorts. “Uh-huh. If you say so.”
I flash a cocky grin and start pointing at various parts of my body. “My face? Turn-on. Chest? Turn-on. I’d roll over and show you my ass, but we both know the answer will be ‘turn-on’ so I’ll skip that one. Dick? Turn the fuck on. And then we get to the non-physical awesomeness that is Dean.”
“Speaking in the third person? Not a turn-on.”
I ignore the jab. “I’m adorable, first off. My sense of humor is stellar—obvs.”
“Obvs,” she echoes dryly.
“I’m extraordinarily skilled in the art of conversation.”
She nods. “When it’s about yourself, of course.”
“Of course.” I pretend to think it over some more. “Oh, and I’m a mind reader. No lie. I always know what the other person is thinking.”
“Yeah? What am I thinking right now?” Allie challenges.
“That you want me to shut up and fuck you again.”
She shakes her head in dismay. “Goddamn it. That’s actually what I was thinking.”
I smirk at her and tap my forehead. “Told ya. Mind reader.”
“Congratulations.” She sighs. “How many condoms did you bring?”
“One.”