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“WHY ARE YOU dressed like that, Rach? I thought you were coming round for a Saturday night in.”
Rachel holds up two bottles of wine, swaying them in front of her tight LBD with a goofy grin on her face. “I changed our mind.”
“I’m sorry, Rach, but I’m just not up for a night out.”
She comes inside, kicking the door closed with one of her favourite Gucci heels that she’s already had re-soled more than once. She heads straight to the kitchen, dumping one bottle of wine in the fridge and attacking the other with a corkscrew.
I stand across from her, my arms folded over my chest, but she continues going about her business, pretending I’m not here. Once she’s poured two glasses, she pushes one across the breakfast bar to me and raises her eyebrows. “Well, go get ready.”
“Ra—”
“Listen, you’ve been miserable all week. This… all of this… it isn’t going away, and you have to do what you’ve done in the past. You have to build a bridge a—”
“And walk over it. Using my line on me?”
She winks. “Damn straight. Go.”
I shower and dress in pretty decent time, even with Rachel sitting on the bed talking to me while I do my make-up and blow-dry my hair.
“I feel semi-human,” I tell her once I’m ready and sipping wine on the sofa.
We finish both bottles of wine, like old times, and head out to Kensington just after ten. After the week I’ve had, I’m on the drunk side of tipsy already, and I know I shouldn’t have more than one or two while we’re out.
We step out of the cab outside Heist. Rachel struts straight to the front of the queue while I pay the cab driver, and by the time I get there, the doorman, Rachel’s cousin Darrell, is holding open the red rope barrier. We slip inside, to the dismay of the waiting crowd.
“If I wore a dress like that I’d be in already!” some guy shouts behind us.
I smile back across my shoulder at Darrell and mouth “thank you”.
I follow Rachel upstairs to the rooftop, which is being warmed by patio heaters under the clear, star-studded December sky. We head through the packed bar to the VIP area and perch on two stools at the end of a table of four guys. I laugh as Rachel pays them close scrutiny and winks when one of the guys clocks her running her eyes over him.
“Hey, did I just make you laugh?”
“I’m laughing at you,” I tell her.
“I’ll take it.” She smiles affectionately, and I squeeze her hand as a waitress comes over and takes our order of two Hendricks’ with slimline.
We talk about trash, people in the bar, old stories, gossip we’ve heard — well, gossip Rachel has heard — lately. We avoid anything that would shatter my mood, something I’m eternally grateful for.
“Thank you,” I talk-shout across the table. “Maybe I did need to get out.”
“You were festering. I thought you were going to start growing a beard and getting fungal infections.”
I throw my head back as I laugh. “Why would either of those things happen?”
She shrugs and takes a sip of her second Hendrick’s.
A hand touches my shoulder, making me turn my head. A guy is far too close to my face. I pull back to get a look at his stubble-covered jaw. Actually, he’s not bad. Like, a seven out of ten. “Do you come here often?”
I glance at Rachel, and we both start howling. “Ah, I come here sometimes. Listen, you’re a good-looking guy, so I’m going to help you out. Why don’t you try your lines on her?” I dip my head in Rachel’s direction, who smiles and bats her eyelashes.
“I would,” he says to Rachel, leaning between us so we can both hear. “You’re beautiful. But my mate has been eyeing you up all night.”
“Well tell him to come say hi. I don’t deal with shy guys,” Rachel tells him.
I watch him walk back to his group of friends, but my eyes are torn away by four different men walking out to the terrace. Teddy. Jay Hamilton. Spencer. Clark.
“We need to leave.” I climb off my stool and take hold of Rachel’s wrist.
