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A friend? And who does he suppose that friend is? Our four best friends, Penny and Gareth, and Helen and Lewis, haven’t shown their faces for months. I can’t blame them. Like most people, they find being around us too much. Uncomfortable. Too real. But I can set up an online store on my own. I smile to myself, becoming excited.
“I like seeing you happy,” Billy says quietly, gazing across the table at me.
I reach across and bring our lips together. “You make me happy,” I tell him, ignoring the fact that his heart isn’t in our kiss.
Ignoring the fact that he still can’t tell me he loves me.
Part Five
Chapter Twelve
Bored. Out. Of. My. Mind.
Her mouth moves across the table as she rabbits on about . . . I don’t know. The last word I actually heard was “Tiffany.” Who the hell is Tiffany? I push my salmon around my plate, smiling every now and then, humming or nodding. To what, I have no idea. I’m brain-dead. I like Amanda. She seems fun, reasonably mature for her age, and she has some serious moves in the bedroom. But there’s something missing.
“Luke?”
I look up, blinking. “Of course,” I say, and she smiles, seeming pleased.
“Great. Pick me up at eight?” She takes her wineglass and has a sip, and the stupidest thought comes over me. Her lips are bright red. So why is there no lipstick on her glass? “It’s been a lovely evening.”
I hum, like in agreement, taking my glass of water. We have dessert and coffee to go yet. I don’t know if I’ll make it past mains. I may be asleep soon. “How’s work?” In this moment, I can’t for the life of me remember what Amanda does for a living. I’m hoping she fixes that pronto.
When she tilts her head in question, I tilt mine slowly too, waiting. “You’ve never asked me what I do for work.”
“I haven’t?” I rewind through our encounters, trying to locate the memory that will tell me she’s wrong. I can’t find it. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” She smiles suggestively over her glass, her back straightening a little, pushing her generous boobs out. “I’m in the cosmetics industry.”
“And what do you do in the cosmetics industry?” I ask, fighting to keep the conversation flowing.
“I test products.” She proceeds to detail her average working day. She loses me at eyelash tinting. I’m back to nodding sporadically again. The waiter collects our plates, places two dessert menus on the table, as Amanda rambles on. “Maybe we could take dessert back to your place,” she suggests, browsing down the choices.
Usually, when a woman suggests such a thing, I’d call for the bill and make a hasty exit with her. Tonight, I’m just not interested. “Damn, I forgot something,” I say without thought, pulling out my wallet and putting my AMEX on the table. “I said I’d see my grandfather this evening.” Slapping my palm on my forehead, I shake my head to myself. “What an idiot.” My phone rings, and I look down, recoiling when I see who’s calling. Pops? “See?” I say, too high-pitched, swiping up my phone and flashing the screen at a startled-looking Amanda. “He’s wondering where I am.” I jump up and round the table, kissing her cheek. “That’s your fault for constantly dazzling me.” I know what I’m doing, though Amanda seems oblivious, smiling with satisfaction on a coy shrug.
“I won’t apologize.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” I look up to the waiter. “Make sure the lady gets a cab.” Zooming out of the restaurant before anyone can protest, I take Pops’s call. “How’d you know?” I ask, crossing the road to my car.
“Know what, Grandboy?”
“That I needed saving?”
He chuckles, the sound, as ever, causing me to grin from ear to ear. “What dating scrape have you gotten yourself into now?”
I jump in my car and wait for the Bluetooth to kick in as I drive off down the road. “You home?” I ask. It’s a stupid question. He only goes wherever I take him.
“Bring whiskey.” He hangs up, and I laugh.
“You got it, Pops,” I say to myself. After enduring dinner with Amanda tonight, I could do with a stiff drink myself.
I collect his favorite malt on my way, pulling up at just past eight. It’s late, I know I’ll be chastised, but I’ll work my charm. I press the buzzer and clear my throat. “Sheila,” I purr, smiling at the intercom.
“Luke?”
“It’s me.” I hear the door unlatch without any protest, and I quickly tuck the bottle of malt under my jacket before I enter the grand entrance hall. Sheila comes hurrying through, a look on her face split between disapproval and delight. “It’s late.” Her lips twist, but I know she’s pleased to see me.
I approach and give her a kiss on the cheek. “It won’t happen again,” I lie, making my way to the end of the hall. “His room?”
