"We got married," I said. "On a boat."
His miserable-yet-amused expression turned cold, his eyes incredulous. "I should take you outside and beat the snot out of you. What kind of man marries a woman on a damn boat without her family? I can't believe you, man." He huffed out a breath and shook his head, then gestured for the bartender. "Jäger! Bring me some fuckin' Jäger. I need something to quench my rage."
I held up a hand to stop the bartender from setting a shot glass in front of Riley. "No one is drinking any Jägermeister tonight. If anything, we'll drink tequila"—cue filthy memories of tequila dripping from Erin's nipples—"like men."
"Miss Honey drinks tequila," he said, and no fucking shit, he was on the verge of tears.
"Don't do that to yourself," I said. "It's damn near impossible, I know, because everything reminds me of Erin. There's an ER nurse with glasses just like Erin's, and I found myself staring at her this morning. It fucking killed me, and it was very awkward. I had to make up a lame excuse, and then pretend I was being paged."
"You actually like her?" he asked, a little incredulous. "Erin, not that nurse."
"Yes, I like her," I cried. "Of course I do."
"But she lives in Europe," he said.
"She does," I conceded.
He rolled his eyes as if I was being remarkably obtuse. "Doesn't that make marriage a bit difficult?"
"She'll come home," I said. "When she's ready, and when she figures out where home is."
We sat in silence after that, staring into our drinks and blindly watching college football highlights.
"What are you going to do about it?" he eventually asked. "Because if you're waiting for her to make the next move, you've got to know she doesn't act particularly quickly. She only reacts when she's been pushed past her breaking points."
I gave him awhat can I do?shrug. "If I figure it out, I'll let you know."
Riley waved me off with a sour frown. "Erin is incredible with many things, but she's terrible when it comes to taking care of herself. She lets dickface guys like you take advantage of her and leave her."
"I'm not a dickface guy," I said. "I'm not taking advantage of her, and she's better at taking care of herself than you think."
Riley studied his beer bottle for a moment, intent on peeling the label off. "What am I gonna do?" he asked.
"Well," I said, clearing my throat. "Have you thought about spending less time with Matt and Lauren?"
"Why the fuck do you think I go to Rhode Island every weekend I can, and leave the office as soon as possible every evening? I don't hate my job. I'm actively trying to avoid Matt-and-Lauren moments. That's why I went to the mat with Patrick to get my own office. I couldn't share a space with Matt all damn day. Not with him and Lauren texting back and forth about how much they love and adore each other, and they're going away for romantic weekends, and they want to have a million babies."
I pointed at him with my beer bottle. "But you also spent the summer helping out at her school, man. How many classrooms did you paint for her?"
"All of them," he said, groaning. "Every single one…with primer. And three coats. I can't say no to her, Nick. She invites me to dinner, or asks for help, and a really fucked-up part of me thinks that if I do, she'll suddenly realize that she has feelings for me, too. And, no, you don't need to tell me that any of that is fucked up. I know it's fucking terrible, and I'm lower than dick cheese for wanting my brother's marriage to fall apart. And fuck…I don't know. I just feel good when I'm around her, and I think I could make her happy."
It didn't seem necessary to state the obvious—that Lauren wasveryhappily married to Matt, and Matt wouldn't walk away from her without a fight to the death. So I offered the only appropriate response.
"You've gotta stop that shit," I said. "Get her out of your head, man."
"And look how well that's working for you," he said. "We're basically in the same boat, you know."
"Which boat is that?"
"The fucked-over boat," he snorted. "I'm in love with my brother's wife. You're in love with your living-three-thousand-miles-away wife. We're completely fucked over, and neither of us can look Matt in the eye."
"Yeah," I said, knocking my beer bottle against his. "That's the boat."
Chapter Fourteen
Nick
To: Erin Walsh
