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I stiff at the implication. “Not funny. I’m just in a whiskey kind of mood.”
The bartender puts a whiskey down in front of me at Fergus’s gesture and then retreats to the other side of the bar to handle the other customer.
Despite having Irish blood, in all the time I’ve known Fergus, he has never touched a drink. His father had been an alcoholic, and I knew a part of him has a complicated relationship with the beverage, where he blames his father’s alcoholism for separating him and his sister; she ended up dying in a car crash halfway across the world from him.
“So, you and Agatha fighting?”
I give him an annoyed look. “You could try to look a little less gleeful over it.”
“Sorry, sorry. Go on. What did you do?”
I pick up the glass and throw the burning liquid down my throat before saying, heavily, “I think she wants more than friendship.”
Fergus eyes me, and I am taken aback to see the amusement in his eyes. “Oh, she does, does she?”
“What?” I growl.
Fergus leans back against the bar, resting his elbows on it, “Nothing. I’m just curious. Do you plan to avoid her ‘til she stops wanting more?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Is that what I am doing?
Fergus watches me. “It’s surprising though. I recently started getting the feeling that you aren’t opposed to the idea.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You know?”
He scoffs. “Everybody knows. You two are always together. And I’ve seen the way you look at her.” I don’t say anything, and my friend shrugs. “Don’t let it get to you. She’ll get over you soon enough. I take it you haven’t seen her either?”
“Either?” I echo.
“Zayn told me she’s so busy with work that she spends most of her days at the office and sometimes nights. A few days back, he went to pick her up. Then he bunked at her place.”
My jaw tightens. “Why’d he sleep there?”
Fergus shrugs. “The club is being restructured from inside. He’s got a few days to kill, so he probably hung out with her for a while. But he sounded odd. But I’ve not seen her either. And neither has Philip. It’s nearing three weeks.”
I feel a hint of worry grow in me.
It is starting to look like she is just avoiding everybody.
Fergus is still talking. “But Agatha has always been wild and independent. There are tons of lawyers who work in her building. I’m sure—”
“I kissed her.”
Fergus freezes. “You did what?”
I curl my hands around the whiskey glass and consider throwing it against the wall. “We were in New York. She was talking about some guy, and I got jealous. We were both a little drunk.”
The look Fergus is giving me is not a friendly one. “What happened then?”
I don’t meet his eyes. “I realized then that she wanted more. And I panicked. I left.”
Fergus closes his eyes before he carefully says, “You kissed her, and when you thought she might have feelings for you, you ditched her? Have you called her or tried to talk to her about it?”
I know I am being an asshole. It hasn’t escaped my notice.
But Agatha is new to me. This thing what she wants, my feelings for her that are rapidly transforming, make me wary.
