I catch a whiff of Bridget’s sickeningly sweet perfume as she approaches.
“James, there you are. I was wondering if I could?—”
“No.”
“Oh, but I just thought?—”
“You thought wrong.” I can smell the alcohol wafting off her.
“But I just?—”
I whirl around to face her. She crosses one leg over the other, stumbling to stand upright.
I blow out a breath. “I’m not interested.”
She pulls her head back, eyes dazed.
Jesus Christ. “Do you have a way home?” I ask.
Her lips quirk to the side. “Why, is that an invitation?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows.
I rub my forehead. “No. It wasn’t. Do you need me to organise a cab?”
She pouts, her tone sulky. “No, it’s fine. I’ll sort it myself.”
I watch as she wobbles out the front door, gripping the railing for dear life as she descends the front steps. When I focus back on April, she’s scrubbing an oven dish with a scouring pad, rubbing with force as she worries her lip between her teeth. Mylegs spring into action before I even register that I’m moving. Sliding up to her, I place my hand over her forearm as she reaches for the next dish. Her skin is wet and sudsy from the water, and she pauses, tipping her head towards me.
“Let me help.”
“It’s fine, I’ve got this,” she says, blowing a stray hair that’s fallen across her face out of the way.
“Then I’ll dry,” I say, reaching for a tea towel.
“Thank you.”
We fall into a production line. She scrubs while I dry. “So, did you have fun tonight?”
She hesitates before answering, like she’s not sure whether to be truthful. “Yes.”
I don’t believe her.
I remain silent, unsure of how to respond.
“I saw you made quite the impression on Bridget,” she says.
I chuckle. “I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Not sure, just don’t.”
She chews the inside of her cheek. “I think she was interested in you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She couldn’t stay away from you.”
“How do you know that?” I say, my lips tipping up at the corners. “Were you watching me, April?”
