“Good,” Derek said. “You only come up once. Capitalise on it.”
Patrick was reminded of his dad’s ‘always wear a condom’ lectures. He gave his friend the same solemn nod he’d given his old man. “I will.”
“Ah, lay off.” Willow lifted Jupiter over his head. “Psycho’s only twenty-three.”
“Almost twenty-four,” Patrick said. “Mid-twenties.”
Willow snorted. “Yeah, that’s super fuckin’ old. Get your walking frame ready. Why are you out here by yourself, anyway?”
Before he could come up with something that wasn’t ‘trying to figure out if Cheryl is gonna bang some old dude’, a loud, feminine laugh caught Willow and Derek’s attention. Cheryl was doubled over, tilting her wine glass as though the old guy was so hilarious, she might spill her drink. But it wasn’t her real laugh. Cheryl’s real laugh was deep and kind of snorty. She was performing for the old fuck, trying to win him over. Patrick gripped his empty scotch glass tight enough to crack it, then realised Willow and Derek were watching him. He tried to rearrange his face to neutral, but they’d already clocked exactly what was going on. Their expressions were all too familiar: pity with a shot of ‘this is fucking hilarious.’
“So, Cheryl Karalis-Walker’s out here,” Willow said to Derek. "What an interesting yet totally unexpected turn of events."
“Leave it,” Patrick warned. “We’re mates.”
“You sure are.” Willow jerked a thumb at Cheryl. “She looks happy.”
Patrick kept his grip tight on his scotch glass. “Something you want to say, Willow?”
“Not at all, mate. Live and let live, that’s my motto.”
Cheryl fake-laughed behind them again, and Derek’s expression grew even more pitying. “She come with you?”
“As friends.”
Derek’s lips twitched. “Right.”
“So, you’re not still holding out hope?” Willow asked. Unlike Derek, he didn’t bother hiding his shit-eating grin. “Not still hoping she’ll get drunk and give you one?”
“No. I’m—”
“Burning one fuck of a torch. What’s it been? Three years since you guys started hanging out?”
Closer to four, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “We get along. It’s not a big deal.”
“Of course not.” Willow put a struggling Jupiter on the ground. “What’s up, baby girl?”
“I go mumma?”
“Of course, princess.” Willow watched Jupiter run across the deck, beaming proudly. “She’s amazing,” he said to no one, before laser-focusing back on Patrick.
“But you know, Hardo,” he said, his big, stupid smile getting bigger and stupider. “This Cheryl thing reminds me of something. A word, maybe. Or like, a phrase, but I just can’t think what it is…”
“You’re right,” Derek said slowly. “It’s like… some kind of district? A region?”
“A zone.”
“Ah, yeah. A zone. And Psycho’s near it. Almost in it, you might say.”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ha-ha. Don’t you assholes have milk to go heat up or something?”
“I’m good here,” Derek said. “Willow?”
“Happy to hang around. So, what’s your plan, Psycho? Hover by the deck and watch the old boy work his game or…?”
“Leave it,” Patrick said through gritted teeth.
“Yeah, leave it, Willow,” Derek said evenly. “Old mate’s already locked it in, and he looks like he hasn’t touched a tit for twenty years. Don’t ruin it up for him.”
