“Surfing is good,” I murmured. “How long is he on leave?”
She was too busy texting Matt—the two of them were ridiculous with the texts—to care that I was looking for a detailed accounting of her brother’s whereabouts. And it wasn’t like I was going to do anything with that information.
We had our fling, it was over, and there was nothing more to it.
And side note: I didn’t even like the guy.
“Not long. The weekend, maybe a bit longer,” she said, smiling at her screen. Seriously, I’ve seen the mobile phone bills. Those two could clear five hundred texts per day without breaking a sweat. “But he’s running training missions with new SEALs for the next six months. A lot safer than the missions he was leading overseas. My mother’s happy about that.”
“I can imagine,” I said. My knowledge of all things military was limited to the stray details Lauren shared about her wildly overprotective father and her life growing up near the naval base in Coronado. “So where do these training missions take place? Is that in California?”
Maybe my curiosity was more than vague.
“No, he went through BUD/S—it’s like SEAL 101—in Coronado, but he’s based out of Little Creek, Virginia. He’s never there anymore. He’s been overseas for the past few years, and I don’t even remember the last time he was stateside, aside from the wedding.”
“Huh,” I said. For someone accustomed to direct questioning, this vague curiosity bullshit was strenuous. “Must be tough, you know…not getting home often. Probably hard on his friends…or girlfriend.”
She frowned at the creamy orange shade on her big toe. “Do you have anything a little brighter? More a tangerine?” The technician fetched every polish between yellow and red, and Lauren studied each while my question lingered between us. After much consideration, she selected a new color and sent another text.
Chuckling, she typed out a few more messages and I was convinced she was ignoring my original comment. It was probably the best avenue for everyone involved; I didn’t need to fall down the Will Halsted rabbit hole again.
As I said, I didn’t even like the guy. Total douche waffle.
“He doesn’t have a girlfriend,” she murmured. “Hasn’t since he finished the second leg of SEAL training and shipped out to Afghanistan.”
I hid my smile behind the margarita glass.
The discussion turned to Lauren’s school and the last-minute preparations necessary to start the year. Her teachers were busy setting up their classrooms and getting familiar with the warehouse-turned-schoolhouse, and she was eager to finally open the doors to new students.
We loitered on the sidewalk when the toenail polish was dry, debating whether we’d survive another round of drinks. Considering we both had early morning meetings and we’d already put away several margaritas, we decided it was time to call it a night.
“Come over around seven tomorrow night. We’ll make sangria and sit on the terrace and soak up the last seconds of summer,” Lauren said as she started walking backward toward her place. “Oh, and you might like to know Will has been asking about you, too.”
*
I was aimingfor casually late. I landed closer to offensively late.
When the office started clearing out around five, I dug into some property value research in preparation for my Friday morning appointments. The title history was more complicated than I expected, and when I looked up from my work, it was almost eight thirty.
“This wasn’t the plan,” I yelled to my empty office. I gathered my things and headed for the garage, aggravated that I didn’t have time to stop at my favorite wine shop to grab a few bottles.
Traffic was heavy and street parking was a nightmare, and it was after nine o’clock when I reached Matt and Lauren’s loft. I let myself in and dropped my things in the entryway, and heard laughter coming from the terrace.
I didn’t give myself a moment to hesitate and marched straight to the screen door. “Sorry I’m late,” I said, settling into a seat between Matt and Lauren at the round patio table. “I was buried with research on the Commonwealth Avenue property.”
“We didn’t think you were coming,” Matt said.
“Shannonalwayscomes,” Will said, his eyes trained on me as if Matt and Lauren didn’t exist. “Sometimes it takes her a little longer to get there, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
And there he was. The same obnoxious, sun-bleached blond prick who gave me two of the best nights of my life and vanished without so much as a ‘Thank you, ma’am.’
“Well then,” Lauren said under her breath. “Sangria?” She didn’t wait for my response, and set a glass in front of me.
“Will,” I said.
“Shannon,” he replied.
I glanced around the table, ignoring Will’s cool, steady gaze. “What did I miss?” I asked.
