Free Reviving Haven by Cory Cyr Page A

breathless.
    “You know I don’t read those rag magazines.” I’m trying to defend my lack of star knowledge. I’d never even heard of Latch McKay until a few hours ago.
    “Haven, he’s not that kind of a model anymore. Keenan Stone does huge runway shows and big print ad campaigns. I mean, he’s in Vogue . Tell me again, why are we BFF’s? Because my best gal pal would so know THAT! So he’s hot, right? It’s not just air brushing . . . how big is his co—?”
    I hold my hand up to cut off her dirty inquisition. “Weeze, for God’s sake, do you think I was there to measure his goods? Gee, you have that on your mind every five minutes. Statistically, I’m thinking you think about that as often as men do.” I chuckle at the expression on her face.
    Weezie looks at me, frowning. And there it is—the pouty face.
    “Come on BFF, just give me some . . . details . . . please . . .” She appears to be begging. I almost laugh, but that would piss her off. I basically owe her, considering I am not revealing certain things.
    “Yes, he’s hot. Yes, he’s a blond Greek god. And yes, he appears to have a HUGE—I open my arms wide—package. Happy?” I roll my eyes and snort.
    “Ecstatic,” Weezie proclaims, beaming.
    “Did you take pictures?” s he asks, hopeful for a visual. I glare at her. She is giving me a headache.
    “No, I didn’t take pictures. Weeze, it wasn’t a porno shoot.” I huff.
    She starts laughing. “I know, just asking. I can get all the pictures I want on the web, even nude ones anyway,” she announces proudly.
    “I’m kind of surprised he’s doing a book cover. I didn’t think he did covers anymore, not since he got signed up with that huge French modeling agency.”
    In my mind, I’m thinking: Okay, so that’s why Mr. Stone was not very happy. Obviously, he and Latch are truly the best of friends and he was pushed to do the shoot. Maybe that’s what he meant by coercion.
    “I just can’t bel ieve you didn’t know who he was,” Weezie says, still shaking her head in amazement.
    “To be honest, he did look vaguely familiar, and I finally did recognize him from his book covers. But you know me; blonds have never been my thing.”
    “Well, I’m an equal opportunity kind of gal—I give equal opportunity to any and all men. Well, except for Thomas . . . never going to hit that again.” She starts moving towards the door.
    “God, Weezie, you sound like a guy—‘never going to hit that again.’ What’s next the word , ‘Bone’?”
    Weezie laughs and shakes her head. “Haven, you’re just too tightly wound. We need to get you laid, or at least shaken and stirred,” she says and grins.
    My face blushes deeply. I already feel like I’ve been shaken to my core and extremely stirred . . . damn that Latch McKay.
     
    *****
     
    I decide to make dinner for Weezie and myself. It’s still pleasant outdoors, even with the sun just now beginning to set. I fire up my grill on the back veranda and put a meatless burger on the rack with wrapped veggies in foil. I let Weezie know it’s time for her to cook her chicken.
    “Tell me again why I have to use my own grill instead of just making my life easier by tossing my chicken on your grill?” she complains, dragging her portable grill outside and plugging it in.
    “I do not want your disgusting flesh on my grill,” I reply calmly, tossing some salad greens.
    “Okay, whatever, Mother Nature.” Weezie laughs.
    I put the fresh greens in a bowl with some red beans, red onions, cherry tomatoes and radishes. I wipe my hands on a towel and snap Weezie with it.
    “Ouch, that stings . . . wench,” she squeals.
    “Let’s eat.” I grab the salad bowl and some dressing and head outside. Weezie follows me with beverages. We sit at the table and eat in silence. I have quite a bit churning in my brain.
    “Are you sure nothing is bothering you, Haven?” Weezie asks. “I mean seriously, I can’t put my finger on it, but you’re