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‘I can vouch for that,’ Edmond says. ‘I’ve never opened my kitchen to find a grown man drooling on my benches.’
Marty starts laughing. ‘You went to see her and fell asleep? Jesus, I’ve heard it all now, Drew. First you buy breakfast without getting the night-before screw. Then you fall asleep on her. You like this woman.’
Growling, I tip my head back and drain what’s left of my beer. ‘I’ve got a lot bigger things to deal with than relationships, Marty. Like getting my name on the door of our firm.’
‘Damn right you do.’
‘Joking aside,’ Edmond says, sober and straight-faced, ‘Do not mess around with this girl. I know what you’re like and I don’t want her running back to Britain with a broken heart. She’s been through enough.’
I nod. That’s the end of the conversation, but my problems aren’t over because now I’m also wondering what Becky has been through.
The top and bottom of it is, I have to get British Becky out of my head. For my sake. I have to focus on my career. For hers, because Edmond is right, I could hurt her if she falls for me. If nothing else, to make sure I don’t piss off the best steak chef in the State.
I hang back in the kitchen and open a new bottle of beer while the others sit around the poker table. I lean forward on the breakfast bar, my back to the others, my hands gripping the edge of the work surface. I contemplate canceling on her, maybe telling her I couldn’t get Yankees tickets after all. But I can’t do that to her. She has a list of things she wants to see in New York. And she wants some company in this city, that’s all.
No. I’ll go. I’ll go and I’ll make it clear that there can’t be anything between us. I’m not that kind of guy anyway, and I have a lot more important stuff to work on. I don’t have time for her… for anyone. Not nagging wives or the Devil’s kids. I’ll let her cross the Yankees off her list, then I’ll step out. Maybe leave friendship to Sarah and Becky. I’ll just be the guy she bumps into sometimes at the bagel truck.
Why in God’s name does that thought bring a dull ache to my gut?
I join the guys, and we finally play some poker. We talk, we laugh, we take the piss out of each other, we drink far too much beer.
Four hours later, four grown men are making their way unsteadily out of my apartment.
Brooks is last to leave. The booze is affecting him less than the others, but the hand he lays on my shoulder is still heavier than it needs to be. ‘I gotta tell you, man. I haven’t seen you smile like you smiled when you opened that box of cake since… Man, I don’t ever remember seeing you grin that big.’
‘Cake will do that to a man. Catch you later, Brooks.’
He nods, then thumps the side of his fist into my chest. ‘You don’t even like desserts, man.’
I never used to.
When I’m left alone, I grab a final beer and drop back onto my sofa. I didn’t realize I was drunk until my mind wanders to British Becky. Her soft skin. Her silky blonde locks. That body.
I’ve had too much beer to fight it. I’ll find willpower tomorrow. Tonight… I’ll let my mind indulge in the only dessert I’ve craved for days.
* * *
I wake with a dry mouth and a heavy head. There’s only one thing to get rid of it, and that’s to sweat the beast. I pull on my workout clothes and head for a run.
An hour and a half later, I’m showered, I have a full pot of coffee to go at, and I’m sitting on a stool in my kitchen making notes on a new case. The dial tone of Skype sings through my laptop speakers when I’m mid-sentence. Grumbling, I pull a hand back through my damp hair. Then I see it is my sister calling.
The case can wait.
I hit ‘Connect’, and Millie’s face shows on the screen. She’s sitting in the kitchen of Mom and Dad’s house. She lives in Jersey now with her husband and two kids, so she often stays over when she visits our parents. Free sitters and a better alternative than making her way home after a glass of wine or two.
‘Hey, handsome,’ she says. Her smile is a mirror of my own. She’s four years younger than me, but you could be forgiven for thinking we’re twins. We have the same dark-blond hair, although she has highlights. The same straight nose. Even the same blue eyes.
‘Hey, yourself.’
Before we can get into conversation, the screen shakes, and the image of Millie blurs. I’m staring at the kitchen floor in Mom and Dad’s house, then the ceiling. I hear my niece and nephew arguing, then my sister grabs hold of the laptop, and she’s back on the screen.
‘Stamping down your authority there, Mill,’ I tease.
Ignoring me, she brings the kids into view, both propped on stools and looking as mischievous as ever in matching jeans. Poor kids.
‘Now, one at a time, say hello to Uncle Drew.’
Annalise goes first, wiping her wispy, white-blonde hair from her baby blue eyes as she does. Cute as heck. ‘Hi, Uncle Drew-bew.’
