Julian was going to be bad tonight, and no one could stop him. The unaccustomed notion floated in his chest like a soap bubble, lighter than air, slick with rainbows.
“This is where you want to get dinner?” Rafi was staring through the windshield at the flashing neon sign above the restaurant Julian had directed him to. Well, ‘restaurant’ wasn’t really the right word. ‘Greasy spoon’ was closer.
“Are you too good for this establishment, Rafael?” Julian asked, straight-faced. “Does it violate your rockstar aesthetic? Offend your capitalist-princeling sensibilities?”
“Says the man whose apartment looks like the Baroque period threw up in a Khardashian’s handbag.”
Julian laughed—more bubbles, spilling invisibly out of his mouth. “Oh, it’s terrible, isn’t it? And I’ve done what I could to m
