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‘Pippa?’ Who’s Pippa?
Pippa appears at my side. Ah, yes, Pippa, the pretty waitress. I smile at her. She’s so lovely. Really lovely. And she has a nice smile which I think I return.
‘Hey, too much festive fun?’ She doesn’t sound angry, not like Jackson.
I walk with her as I giggle my agreement. ‘Maybe just a little.’
‘I’ve got this, boss.’
I look over my shoulder and he’s heading to the bar.
Boo. I don’t want him to go. I’m still angry. Of course I am. But it doesn’t
mean I want him to go.
* * *
This is my fault. Again.
I hated myself before, but now...
I shouldn’t have ordered the second bottle. Hell, I shouldn’t have ordered the first.
But I was selfish, wanting to spend some time together, all four of us, just like how it used to be. To have Caitlin, fun and flirty Caitlin, back, even with the unfinished business hanging between us. It was too nice, too warm, too easy.
Yes, I was selfish and stupid. And now Cait would pay the price. Again.
I stuff my hands deeper into my pockets and stare out at the city streets, still bustling despite the lateness of the hour, and try to lose myself in it. I want to empty my head and ease the heavy weight settling inside me, around me.
‘Boss?’ I spin on my heel to see Pippa walking towards me, her voice whisper-soft. ‘She’s all settled.’
‘Is she okay?’
‘She’s fine, or at least she will be soon enough.’
I blow out a breath, some of the tension with it. ‘Thank you.’
‘No problemo.’ She gives me a smile that I can’t quite return. ‘Best to keep an eye on her though. She’s not been sick, but she certainly feels it.’
‘I will.’
‘Here are her things.’ She holds out the clothes I hadn’t even noticed, the dizzying green and white mix, and a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I recall her in them. The smile dies a swift death as I think of her without them now.
‘What’s she—?’
‘I’ve stuck her in one of your Ts. I figured she’ll sleep better, and you wouldn’t mind.’
‘No, of course not.’ Caitlin in one of my shirts... I’m not sure which is more erotic, naked or—
And you shouldn’t be thinking about it either, not when she’s in the state she is, thanks to good old you.
‘Do you have a bowl to put on the floor next to her? I’ve laid a towel down, but...’
‘Sure, I’ll sort it; you head off.’
‘You gonna be okay?’ The way she’s now frowning at me suggests she’s not referring to the babysitting of a tipsy elf.
‘Yeah, I’ll be fine.’
