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After a moment Alice said, “And what if it doesn’t work? Our friendship’s blown for good, isn’t it?”
“Not necessarily. Sometimes it clears the air. But view this from another angle, Munchkin; how much longer can you go on like this? I’m worried you’ll self-combust.”
“That’s a possibility.” Alice took a sip of wine and stifled a grimace at the acidity. Placing her glass down, she chewed thoughtfully at her lower lip. “Where would I start, Poll? I mean, I can’t even fathom the basics of flirting. What am I supposed todoto actually seduce someone?”
Let alone someone I’ve been madly in love with for years?
“Well, firstly you have to throw Aaron off-balance, shake him up a bit. You’re in the perfect position to do that now. You’ve well and truly got the upper hand.”
“That sounds awful. Like a scheming hussy.”
Polly grinned. “Where do you get those sayings?”
“Regency romances,” Alice muttered. She had a pile of vintage Georgette Heyer novels hidden under her bed that she re-read whenever she felt sad.
“I prefer the termstrategy,” Polly said airily. “All you’re doing is making sure the conditions are right for romance. I’ve already got an idea.” She caught Alice’s worried frown and raised her hand to stop her protests. “Don’t shoot it down in flames before you’ve heard it.”
Polly jumped up. “First we need to give you a makeover.” Already she’d grabbed Alice by the hand and was dragging her across the hallway to her bedroom.
Motioning to the bed, she ordered, “Sit down.”
Alice did as she was bid and watched as Polly started to grab dresses out of her crammed wardrobe.
“Remember that buying spree I went on when I reached size ten for a whole week?” Polly said, piling garments over her arm. “There’s all this stuff I can’t squeeze into that will fit you perfectly.” Flicking a river of ebony curls off her face, Polly grinned wickedly over her shoulder at Alice. “It’s dress-up time, Munchkin!”
* * *
At the bar of the Shamrock Irish pub, Aaron stared into his pint of Guinness. Next to him, Carter Wells, his friend since they were fourteen, flipped a beer mat between a bony finger and thumb.
“Can you stop doing that?” Aaron grumbled.
“It’s that or jiggle my knee. Lucy hates me jiggling my knee.”
“I hate you flipping beer mats.”
Carts, as he was known, gave Aaron a baleful look. “Right now, Lucy’s opinion matters more than yours.”
“Why? She’s more or less ditched you. And I’m—for some reason I still can’t work out—your best mate.” Aaron cast a look up at Carts; “up” being the operative word. Even seated on a bar stool, the top of Carts’ head skimmed the shelf of glasses above the bar. He’d hit six foot five at fourteen and added another inch a year later, which had earned him the title Stick Insect, swiftly shortened to The Stick. It had been Aaron who’d insisted on calling him Carts instead, and who’d made sure the name stuck with their peers. He guessed that proved he wasn’t a completely selfish bastard. But the memory of Alice’s shocked expression this afternoon still kept tweaking his gut and tarnishing the day’s win.
User, a voice said inside his head. In an attempt to ignore it he asked, “Any developments with the Lucy thing?”
Carts’ face brightened andhallelujah, the mat-flipping stopped. “She’s agreed to meet me.”
“What for?”
“I think she’s realised she’s made a mistake.”
Aaron swiped condensation off his glass with the pad of his thumb. Lucy had developed a crush on her personal trainer, intense enough that she’d packed her stuff out of Carts’ house and left two weeks ago. Aaron had seen the writing on the wall months ago. She’d been telling Carts that he needed to beef up – a sure sign of a woman on the move. Brawn had clearly won over brains and she wasn’t coming back anytime soon.
“I had a Eureka moment last night,” Carts continued, clearly not noticing Aaron’s silence. “I’m going to surprise her with an engagement ring.”
Glass at his lips, Aaron nearly spluttered Guinness everywhere. “What the hell for?”
“I figured her leaving probably had something to do with me not taking things to the next level. If she knows how I really feel—I mean, this guy, he’s just playing with her, right? He’s not offering her anything.”
“Apart from a great time in the sack.”
“Absolutely nothing’s happened between them. She told me. Nothing. It’s just an emotional connection.”
