“I’m sorry about Pete back at the diner,” Devon said, as we were sitting in his living room.
“It was disturbing and amusing at the same time.”
“He can be a handful at times,” Devon said, his soft, apologetic voice endearing.
“Forget about it. It’s part of the past.”
“It was an hour ago.”
“I’ve already forgotten about it.”
“I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” I said. “It’s fine.”
He shook his head, appalled. “I can’t believe I dated Pete.”
“Devon,” I said, placing my hand on his knee, “let’s talk about something else.”
We thumbed through Devon’s catalog of eclectic music records.
“Another Pepsi?” Devon asked, standing.
I handed him my empty bottle and nodded for another. “You don’t strike me as person who listens to popular music.”
“I like variety,” I said.
He left the room and disa
