Chapter 5
James
As the last of the partygoers clear out, I rap my knuckles against the downstairs powder room door.
“I’m in here!” someone yells from the other side. From the slurry sound of it, it’s Bridget, April’s colleague, who’s been hovering around me like a bad bloody smell since I arrived.
Don’t get me wrong—she’s pretty. And daft. But right now, I don’t have the energy to give a fuck. I’m too focused on the woman standing in front of her sink with a distant look on her face, scrubbing a pile of dishes. Alone.
After her own fucking engagement party. No fiancé in sight.
I roll my eyes and head upstairs to use Lucas’s bathroom. I step through the door and stop short. Lucas is sitting at the end of his bed, tapping furiously at his phone screen.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt. You cool if I use your bathroom? Downstairs is occupied.”
He looks up at me, blank-faced. “Huh?”
“I asked if I could use your bathroom.”
He shrugs, not even looking at me. “Whatever.”
After handling things, I wash and dry my hands, then swing the door open to find him still glued to his phone.
“Is everything alright with you?” I ask.
He lowers the phone to his lap and groans in frustration. “Jesus, James. What is it? What do you want?”
Tosser.
“You seem distracted. I was just?—”
“Well, don’t. I’m fine. I’m just busy.”
“Seems like you’ve been busy all night.” I slip my hands into my pockets and rock back on my heels.
He scoffs. “Hardly.”
I frown. “You realise your fiancée is helping Mum and Dad clean up, right?”
He tosses his phone on the bed and twists towards me. “Leave it, would you? You should be more concerned about whether you’re going to end up with a shovel in your hand for the rest of your life.”
What. A. Prick.
His words land precisely where he intended, the jab cutting through me like a blade.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head as I make my way downstairs.
I step off the staircase to find Dad trailing Mum, a large bag in hand as she tosses used napkins and paper plates inside. April is still at the sink, working away at the dishes, while Gemma wraps up the leftover food on the coffee table, organising it into containers, and Anna sweeps the floors, blowing out candles as she goes.
The door to the powder room swings open and a very wobbly, very drunk Bridget stumbles out. She makes her way over to me, pushing her tits out as she moves her hips with more sway than is natural. Her eyes latch onto me like leeches.
Usually, I’m up for an easy lay. But no thanks. I’m into enthusiastic consent, which I highly doubt Bridget is capable of right now. And after seeing April tonight, I’m not sure anyone could compare.
Fuck, I don’t want to entertain that thought.
Bitterness rears its ugly head, planting deep in my gut and spreading its roots. Something about this doesn’t sit right. I suddenly feel this protectiveness, this urge to tell her she deserves more. Lucas has given her the cold shoulder all night, and as much as I don’t care about him, I’d be a dick not to notice how it affects her. It’s glaringly obvious. Her movements and facial expressions have seemed robotic. Unnatural.
The house looks amazing. The effort that’s gone into the food and decorations, which have made the night what it is, leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Because I don’t think Lucas appreciated any of it. Or her, for that matter.
