“Fuck,” Jake mutters. “No wonder you’re not rooting her.”
Davis makes a noise like an angry bull. “Don’t talk about Cece like that.”
“At least Icantalk to women, mate. Not just hang around acting like their unpaid life coach.”
“Oh yeah?” Davis snarls. “And how’s all that talking working out for you,mate? ’Cos the last time I saw Ada, she was on the stripper pole with two other blokes stuffing cash into her shorts.”
I peek through the kitchen window and see the boys sizing each other up like they’re about to turn the bar into a boxing ring. I grip a slice of garlic bread, ready to fling it like a Frisbee and break it up.
“Steady on, boys,” Des says. “I don’t think a dustup’s gonna solve your lady troubles. Might start a few more, in fact.”
Davis and Jake turn away from each other like sulky teenagers, and I thank the stars Des O’Malley knows how to manage hot tempers. I watched him break up more fights than he started back in the day, which is saying something.
“You should’ve told Cece you wanna be with her,” Jake says, quieter now. “That’s one thing I’ve got. Ada knows how I feel. I’m not gonna die wondering ‘what if.’”
Davis scoffs. “Anyone can say ‘I love you.’ Words don’t mean shit.”
“They’re not everything, but they’re notnothing. You can’t expect Cece to read your mind. Especially with all this other shit going on. You should have told her.”
“Like you told Ada about meeting up with Jenny Wallis? Jenny Wallis, who wrecked Ada’s life and dumped mice in Cece’s bar?”
Jake’s lip curls. “Fuck off, dickhead. Cece’s not here to see you play emotional support wombat.”
“That’s enough!” I snap, sticking my head through the window. “You don’t get to mouth off, Golden Boots. Same goes for you, Davis Sanderson. The pair of you are gonna keep things civil, or I’ll take you outside and tan you both.”
The smirk slides right off Jake’s face.
“Sorry,” he says to Davis. “Didn’t mean to start shit.”
“It’s fine.” Davis flicks the side of his whiskey glass, making it ring. “You’re not the fuckin’ problem,thoseare.”
He points at the massive floral arrangement clogging up the end of the bar.
Des whistles. “Which one of you blokes sent those?”
“Not me,” Jake says. “Guessing they’re not yours, Davo?”
“No,” Davis says through gritted teeth. “They’re from some prick Cece knows from back home.”
“Hang on,” Jake says. “Not Will Sharpe?”
Davis’s gaze snaps toward him. “You know Will Sharpe?”
“Yeah. Total fuckwit.”
“Howmany fuckwits are you friends with, exactly?”
Jake makes a face. “Too many, it turns out.”
“Have you triednotbeing friends with a bunch of fuckwits?”
“Valid question,” Des mutters into his drink.
Jake scowls. “What d’you think I’m doing here, talking to you?”
“Another valid question.” Des smiles at Jake. “Clearing ya head and talkin’ it out, eh, Jakey?”
“Only ’cos Ada doesn’t want a bar of him,” Davis shoots back. “And she doesn’t want a bar of him because he fucked her over just to keep everyone in Pukekohe kissing his ass.”
