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‘You don’t brush up so bad yourself.’ She rubs the collar of my shirt between her fingers. ‘Is this Marco’s latest?’
‘Who’s Marco?’ Madge asks. ‘Your stylist guy?’
‘Christ, Madge, make it sound a little more masculine. I don’t have a stylist. He’s more of a personal shopper because I can’t stand crowds and lines.’ I pour myself a glass of champagne from the bucket and sit back with one arm resting along the rim of the booth.
‘Well, whichever, can Kit have his number?’
I literally choke on my Dom. ‘Are you going to give the man a break tonight?’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Marty asks.
We work down another two bottles of champagne, the banter in the group in full swing. I hadn’t been in the mood for a big night but this is the kind of partying I love. Good friends, good music, good drinks, a barrel load of laughs. This is actually what I need.
Between restroom and cigarette breaks, we end up shuffling our seating order around the booth. When Edmond comes back from his latest smoke, I wind up sitting next to him. As soon as he catches my eye, I know my night of not thinking about Becky has come to an end. At the same time, I admit to myself that I’ve been avoiding this conversation all night.
We both rest back against the black velvet of the booth. ‘It’s none of my business, Drew, but I told you to stay away from her.’
‘It takes two people, Edmond.’
‘I understand that, and I don’t want to give you a rough time. Just appreciate that she came here to leave mess behind. She doesn’t need to run into it in Manhattan too.’
‘I’m not trying to bring a storm down on her.’
‘Well, intentional or not, she’s hurting. She hasn’t even accepted my pappardelle for dinner the last two nights. My pappardelle is good, Drew, the best in fact, and Becky doesn’t often turn down food.’
Despite my annoyance that I am somehow being told I’m to blame for whatever situation we’ve got ourselves into, his comment entertains me. ‘Yeah, missing meals doesn’t sound like Becky.’
He pats a hand roughly on my shoulder. ‘That’s all I’ll say on the subject, my friend. Top up?’
‘Sure.’ I slide my glass toward him and rub a hand over my chin, contemplating our conversation. She’s hurting. Yeah, well, me too.
Another table shuffle has me sitting opposite Marty and Brooks, and the conversation switches to ice hockey and how we should get a game together soon. A safe space. We’re laughing about our last game, which was a friendly knock around with the puck, until Kit got his nose broken. That brings everyone in on the conversation again. I’m starting to feel for the guy but Kit gives out as many jokes as he gets.
I drop my head back, laughing heartily, until my attention is grabbed by the next two people to walk into the club. Like a magnet, I’m drawn in, my eyes fixed on Becky. Her blonde hair falls in waves down her back, glossy under the lights. Her short, silver-blue sequined dress finishes high on her chest but the back droops low. Silver heels elongate those killer legs. She has on more makeup than usual. Her eyes are smoky, dark, sultry. Her lips are red and utterly inviting.
Before my body finds the ability to react, Edmond has called her over to the table. She rests a hand against the arm of the man she walked in with – the bartender from Paddy’s – and says something into his ear before he moves toward the bar.
Well, that didn’t take long, did it?
At the sight of her with another man, the rage burning through every cell in my body overwhelms the nausea in my gut.
Edmond stands to greet her, throwing me a glare as he does. ‘I’m glad you could make it.’
Sarah steals her attention next. ‘Becky, I told you you’d look amazing in that dress.’
I watch her embarrassment show on her face as she glances down. ‘I don’t know. I feel like it’s a bit much, to be honest.’
Madge laughs. ‘Oh my God, listen to that gorgeous accent. Hey, I’m Madge and it’s not too much, at all.’
Kit kicks my foot under the table and says, not subtly at all, ‘That is British Becky?’
If I could shoot daggers with my eyes, I’d have just stabbed him.
I can sense Brooks and Marty watching me too. The whole thing has me rolling my stiff jaw.
‘Scoot over, everyone,’ Sarah says. ‘Come sit down, Becky.’
Becky looks at me, holding on to her clutch with both hands. Does she expect me to invite her? No chance.
