Beck’s stare flies back to Richie, then to me, then back to the gigantic goddamn hickey. I very nearly face-palm, but the look that crosses Beck’s expression is so comical, I can’t look away. His eyes get all big as he looks upward, and then he very deliberately rolls his lips in, holding back his laugh. “You okay?” Foster asks him. “Okay?” Beck forces himself to inhale. “I’m fucking fantastic. So fantastic, I’m buying everyone a round of fruity-as-fuck cocktails. Want one, Cohen? Seth? Of course you do! This is great. Lunch is great. What a fantastic day.”
