“That I’m having a party at your mother’s apartment.”

“I’m imagining all those women in the living room? Women that think I’m a male stripper here to perform?”

I can’t help the nervous laughter that escapes.

“No, that’s all true. But, I didn’t plan this. I wasn’t intending to have the party here. There was a mix up at the restaurant.”

“What kind of mix up?” he asks and I hate that I can’t tell what he’s thinking. What he’s going to do with this knowledge.

“I forgot to confirm the reservation so they canceled it and gave it to someone else. The party is for my childhood friend, Lauren.” I motion back toward the living room. “She’s getting married in a few months. Everyone flew out to New York for the party. I mean everyone. Even her Aunt Clara. She’s the one who asked if you were taking requests. And we all know that Aunt Clara doesn’t travel. She’s probably still wasted from all the vodka it took to get her on the plane. There’s no way I could cancel.

“Maybe I should have told them the truth, but everyone was so excited to come to New York. They think it’s so amazing that I live this glamorous life here.” I don’t mention my hole-in-the-wall apartment or the lack of dating that I’ve done during my short time living in New York. The only thing giving me any credit at all is my job at St. Clair Press. “Your mother called me to have boxes of books brought up. I came over to do that and then I just stayed.”

I hate how it sounds.

“We weren’t going to stay here all night. Just for food and drinks and some party games. A strip tease from a man off the street.” I wave my hand in his direction, but he doesn’t even crack a smile. “We’re going to Bounce later. Not like we’re going to bounce,” I make an awkward movement with my body, “but the nightclub, Bounce.”

I’d ask if he was familiar with that dance club but Barrett doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would be caught dead anywhere named Bounce.

“I see.” That’s all Barrett says. For a moment, I have a glimmer of hope that he’ll understand my dilemma and turn a blind eye to this evening. Am I too hopeful to think that living underneath that designer suit might be a beating heart that could understand my predicament?

“Are you going to tell JoAnna?” I ask, my lower lip getting the brunt of my teeth while I wait on pins and needles for his reply.

“No.” He shakes his head, and relief immediately floods my body, only to be replaced by panic a second later when he continues. “You’re going to tell her.”