That was mostlyfalse.
The last thing I was going to do was crash the coupled-up summer getaway. No, I didn't need to spend two weeks with Patrick and Andy, Matt and Lauren, and Sam, his wife Tiel, and their infant son. Getting slapped in the face with coupledom's dick wasn't my idea of agoodtime.
"Or Montauk," Shannon added. "Will's business partner will be there. They tell all manner of Navy SEAL stories after a few drinks. That's alwaysentertaining."
Patrick frowned. "You could always check in with your trades later this week, and take off next week. You need a break,Riley."
I nodded. "I'll keep that in mind and see how it goes," I said easily, hoping my tone turned down the volume on the no-vacationoutrage.
They didn't know that itwasa vacation, and one I needed more than they could ever understand. For me, a week at the beach with my siblings wasn'tgetting away from it all. Not when I'd spend the entire time clawing the scowl from my face as Matt and Lauren loved all over eachother.
"Moving on,"Patricksaid.
Amentothat.
Talk of our summer break was abandoned as he dove into my other projects. He spoke quickly—typed faster—and kept one eye glued to the clock as he barked questions. Soon he was shifting gears to Sam and Andy's work, and then transitioned to Tom and Shannon's updates on properties they were considering for investmentpurposes.
"All right," Patrick said with a heavy exhale. "Shannon. Numberseven."
She reached for her water, nodding. "RISD Weekend is coming up," she said, smiling at me. "I want you to go and find someinterns."
"Oh my fucking god," Patrickmurmured.
"I can't go to RISD Weekend," I repliedautomatically.
"Yes, you can," Shannonreplied.
"Was I somehow unclear about my stance on interns?" Patrickasked.
"You're passing on a trip to Rhode Island?" Matt asked, shaking the ice in that motherfucking coffee cup again. "Are youfeelingokay?"
"I'm fine," I snapped. "But I can't go to RISD Weekend. Send someone else if you're determined to snare someinterns."
The Rhode Island School of Design wasn't like most colleges and universities. Our mascot was a scrotum—no lie. Marijuana appreciation was a general education requirement—slight exaggeration.Slight. Rather than a traditional homecoming weekend loaded up with football and parties, we had a left-of-center iteration: part gallery opening, part art critique symposium, part street fair. It was weird and different to the point of distraction, but I loved everythingaboutit.
I justcouldn'tgo.
"Why the hell not?" Shannonasked.
"Is this about the cat?" Samasked.
"A cat?" Andyasked.
"A woman," Sam explained. "But she's moreof—uh—"
"An outdoor cat," Isupplied.
As if I didn't have enough problems with dreaming about knocking up my sister-in-law, I had numerous stream-of-consciousness emails and texts from my college girlfriend. Even a few babbling brook voicemails. She was like that, always ejecting every single thought in her mind without concern for logic or structure. Somehow it workedforher.
"Oh," Patrick said with a knowinggroan. "Her."
"Right," Sam said, adjusting his cuffs. "If she's going to be there, you're in trouble. You just don't know how to say no to her. You can't face that chick without protection." He brushed a hand down his tie. "And I don't meancondoms."
"It's not that I can't say no to her," I protested but there was no conviction behind it. I was capable of saying no. She wasn't capable of comprehendingtheword.
"How have I never heard about the outdoor cat woman?" Andy asked. She leaned forward to catch Tom's eye. "Doyouknow?"
He smirked. "I know all about Miss Kacie-call-me-Dorrance Strawbridge and her"—he cleared his throat—"antics."
