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Okay, so either he’s skirting over it, that he’s been focused on me, or he doesn’t realize what he’s said. It’s hard to get a read on him because his eyes are taking in the boats. He doesn’t look exactly relaxed, but then again, he never does.
“All I know is, there is more media here because of you.”
“Well, I don’t see them here tonight,” he points out.
I look around. That’s true. Wherever the media hides out, it isn’t here.
“Maybe they all left. With Bert and then James patrolling out there, and with Monica and Eddie never leaving the house, maybe they gave up.”
“That’s what they want you to think,” he says, tapping his temple. “Tricky bastards.”
Amy comes back with our drinks and plunks them down in a hurry, doesn’t bother to ask us what we want, which is just as well, since I haven’t even looked at the menu.
“Cheers,” I say to Harrison, squeezing the lime slice through the bottleneck and then holding up my beer. “Here’s to a night on the town.”
That gets a smile out of him. “Cheers to that.”
We clink, and I manage to maintain eye contact with him as I sip my beer. Then someone by the doors catches my eye.
Shit.
It’s Joey.
I mean, I obviously came here hoping to see him, but more like I hoped he would see me from afar and be like, Oh, Piper, she’s obviously not afraid to be out and about, guess I didn’t ruin her like I thought. Something along those lines. And then he would just play his awful music and stay away.
But no, he’s walking over to me, not staying away.
I sit up straighter, put a stiff smile on my face, and it’s enough that Harrison looks behind him. When he looks back at me, his brows are raised expectantly. I recall what Harrison said on the dock about wanting to break Joey’s nose and hope it hasn’t come to that yet.
“Pipes,” Joey says, standing in front of our table, his arms crossed. He’s got this cheesy, smug look on his face, and I have to wonder why I ever found him attractive. Oh right, it’s because he was an aloof commitment-phobe and I figured that was what I deserved.
“Joey,” I say to him. Then I smile and point my beer at Harrison. “This is Harrison. I don’t think you were formally introduced last time.”
“Oh right, hey, man,” Joey says, holding out his hand. “You’re the visitor.”
“That’s me,” Harrison says, shaking Joey’s hand and absolutely crushing it.
Joey is trying so hard not to wince, I cover my mouth with my beer to hide my delight.
He pulls his hand away, offering a crooked smile. “Wow. That’s some handshake.” Joey looks at me. “Where did you find this guy, Pipes? The MMA?”
Intensity radiates from Harrison’s eyes. “Not quite,” he says in a low voice, the kind of voice that should tell Joey he’s on thin ice.
“Do they even have the MMA in Britain? You’re British, right? Would have expected you to have more of a Jason Statham kind of voice. You know. Like this.” And he proceeds to do a terrible impression of Jason Statham, like Michael Caine on steroids.
Oh Joey, please shut up.
“No, I don’t know,” Harrison says carefully, staring at him now with full-on menace. “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”
“Joey.”
“And you’re Piper’s . . . what, friend?”
Harrison knows what he’s doing. Joey blinks at him, taken aback, like he can’t believe I haven’t told Harrison about him. I can see he’s thinking back to the café, wondering if Harrison had overheard the part about me leaving him at the altar, but I love that Harrison is pretending otherwise.
“No,” he says, and then shoots me a glance. “Well, yes. I’d say she’s my friend. We have a complicated history.”
“I see,” Harrison says. “It’s good to meet Piper’s friends. I hope they all treat her as dearly as I do.”
“Right,” Joey says slowly. “Anyway, my band is playing a set in ten minutes or so. You should come inside and see. Don’t worry, Amy will hold your table out here.”
“We’ll see,” I tell Joey, and then wave at the water. “It’s just so nice out here, shame to be inside.”
Joey looks disappointed. Good. He walks away, and I sigh.
“Please don’t tell me you still have feelings for that wanker,” Harrison says, finishing the rest of his beer in one gulp.
A choked laugh escapes me. “Are you kidding? No. Hell no.”
Harrison seems to brood over that for a moment, then gets up.
“Where are you going?” I ask, fearing he’s leaving.
“Going to go place an order at the bar. I don’t trust our waitress. What would you like?”
“I’m not drinking anything other than this,” I say, waving the beer bottle at him.
He lightly taps the table with his fist. “Be right back.”
