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"Wait, let me call the driver." I hear footsteps approach, knowing it’s JJ.
"Don’t." I glare at him over my shoulder. "I need some time alone, okay?"
"But—" JJ frowns.
"Hey, let me come with you." Isaac draws abreast.
"No way. I don’t want anything to do with either of you right now."
The men exchange glances.
Isaac turns to me. "What did I do?"
"For one thing, you didn’t tell me that your father’s practically a professional bowler."
"You didn’t ask.
"All along, the two of you were laughing at me, no doubt. Was it funny watching my pathetic attempts at bowling when the two of you are clearly such experts at it?"
"It’s one of the few activities we did together growing up," Isaac admits. "This and cricket. He" —he jerks his chin in JJ’s direction— "was insistent I learn how to play it."
"Not that it did much good," JJ mutters.
"Yeah, well, cricket’s a boring game. I much preferred bowling."
"That’s because you lot prefer a game which is all brawn. Cricket is much more strategic: so much of it is played in the mind."
"B-o-r-i-n-g," Isaac sings out.
"Whatever. I’ll see the two of you back at JJ’s place." I half turn, then turn and scowl at both men. "And don’t either of you dare follow me."
"I’m so glad you called and came over." Summer West slides a massive glass—or is that a bowl? —of frozen margarita across the counter. We’re in her kitchen at the townhouse she shares with her husband Sinclair Sterling. Her hair flows around her shoulders. Slivers of pink stand out among the dark strands. She’s wearing a long flowery skirt, a peasant top and ballet pumps. At her feet, Max their dog, pants happily. She raises her glass and clinks it with mine. "Salut."
"Cheers." I take a sip of the frozen liquid. The icy, sweet flavor of strawberries almost masks the tang of the tequila, refreshing as it imparts the warmth I seek. "Yum." I lick my lips, take another sip, then pause. "Should you be—" I jerk my chin toward her barely visibly bump.
"Oh, mine is sans alcohol. Besides, I make these only when I need a brain freeze."
"Clearly you overcompensated for that by dumping your share of tequila into my drink, I take it?"
She giggles. "I might have. Do you mind?"
"Nope, I need it. Also," —I lower my eyebrows over my nose— "a brain freeze?"
She nods. "When I need my brain to stop thinking and want my thoughts to just retreat for a bit. Know what I mean?"
I nod.
"So…" She pulls out a treat from the packet next to her and holds it out to Max. He reaches up, grabs it, then begins to chew it. "Tell me what’s bothering you." She turns to face me.
"How do you know something’s bothering me?"
She tilts her head, a knowing look on her face. Yeah, okay. Woman’s too astute to be taken in by my protests to the contrary.
I take a gulp of the margarita, then cup my fingers around the freezing glass surface. "I, uh… I’m in a bit of a pickle, as you Brits would say."
"Hmm." She plucks the strawberry from the rim and chews on it. "A love pickle, I take it?"
I nod.
