In the car, Nate negotiated the nonsensical streets surrounding Harvard with only half his attention. The rest of it was on his passenger, currently sitting shotgun with her – his head turned resolutely away from Nate, watching the city roll by outside her – his window. Other than to give the address of her – his – dammit – hotel when Nate asked for it, Brad hadn’t said a word since docilely following Nate from the alley to his car back in the bar parking lot.
Fucking gendered pronouns should be outlawed in the English language, Nate thought, a little unreasonably. He had far too many concerns at the moment to keep getting distracted by questions of grammar, for God’s sake. It had seemed clear which he should say out loud to Brad, because he couldn’t imagine in a million years that this w
