“We don’t all have dead parents who left us millions,” Drew retorts, and I flinch on Sam’s behalf, although Sam simply smiles that cheeky smile. I know he has his demons. Drew, however, is plain filthy, no demons so to speak. But while Drew is self-made, Sam was left his millions when he lost his parents in a tragic car accident at nineteen. He and Drew go way back, and Drew has been a member here for over twelve years. He introduced Sam to the lifestyle, brought him here, to escape I suppose—I can relate—and we’ve been mates ever since. We just connected, despite them both being a few years younger than I am. I love Drew’s straight-talking. He doesn’t say much, doesn’t talk for the sake of it, so anything he does say carries a certain weight. As for Sam, I suppose we clicked because of our histories, since I also lost . . .

I shake that thought away before it can take hold and have me diving across the bar for a drink.

“Sorry,” Drew mutters, finding solace in his beer again.

“No sweat.” Sam reaches to give Drew another slap on the back, but he soon retracts, thinking better of it. “I don’t mind sharing my millions with you. I don’t like seeing you stressed, man.”

Drew finishes his drink and stands, fixing his suit. I don’t know why. It’ll be ripped off in a few minutes, given a willing woman or two will be waiting for him in the communal room. “The answer to my problems isn’t to quit. I own the fucking company. But do you know what is the answer?” he asks, and we both tilt our heads. “Fucking.” He stalks out of the bar. “The answer is to fuck.”

I laugh as Mario slides a glass toward me, and my amusement dries up in a nanosecond. I stare at the clear liquid. It isn’t water. I swallow as I push it back to him, feeling Sam’s eyes on my profile. “Thanks, Mario, but I’m not drinking.”

There’s no mistaking his shock, and I can feel Sam’s beside me. And then an awkward silence. I look out the corner of my eye to my mate. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “Not drinking?” he eventually manages.

I shrug, accepting the water Mario has replaced the vodka with. “It’s no big deal,” I say, but we both know it’s a huge deal.

“That’s great, man.” Sam offers a small smile, but reading past his cute, boyish expression, I know he’s desperate to ask more. “Good for you.”

“Thanks.” I’d better get used to this reaction.

“And you’ve been staying at your own place more,” he points out casually. “Is that no big deal too?”

“No big deal,” I reiterate, and he grins.