“Which is?”
She rolls her eyes, then rallies herself. “Two rum and Cokes, please, Dirk! And whateverhe’shaving!”
She could not sound more enthusiastic.
Jonas laughs into his glass, then knocks back the dregs of his whiskey.
At that moment, Anders comes through the door and my stomach does cartwheels for the second time tonight. His gaze alights on us and he doesn’t look surprised, so I gather he got my message.
“Hey, bro,” he says quietly as he reaches us, giving me a single nod of acknowledgment, a thank-you for the heads-up.
“Heeeyyy, bro!” Jonas replies overenthusiastically.
“Come on, let’s go home.” Anders squeezes his brother’s shoulder.
“I’m not going home,” he says. “Bailey has bought me a drink.”
Anders glances at Bailey.
“Hiiii.” Her smile is coquettish.
“Hi, I’m Anders,” he replies shortly.
Dirk places our drinks on the bar.
“Stay for one,” I urge Anders softly enough that our siblings can’t hear us. Bailey is paying for the round and Jonas is facing the bar. It’s clear Anders is not going to be able to get his brother to leave anytime soon.
He sighs and lifts his chin at Dirk.
“Beer?” Dirk asks him.
Anders nods in response.
I turn to Jonas. “Hey, sorry to hear about your dad.”
His smile slips a fraction. “Too drunk to care about that right now.”
“You do seem to be quite a happy drunk,” Bailey muses as Anders digs his hand into his pocket for his wallet.
“Iama happy drunk,” he agrees. “Unlike our father. He wasnota happy drunk, was he,bro?”
Anders stiffens and glares at him as he taps his credit card to the card reader.
My insides clench. What doesthatmean?
“Anyone up for a game of pool?” Bailey asks.
“Sure,” Jonas replies, surprisingly perkily.
“I’m sorry about this,” Anders mutters, picking up his beer and walking beside me as we follow Jonas and Bailey over to the pool table.
“It’s cool. I invited you to join us earlier, remember? As long as Bailey’s happy, I’m happy.”
And Bailey does seem happy. She looks absolutely gorgeous tonight in red cotton shorts and a white tank top. It’s a simple outfit, but she’s so stunning she could wear a potato sack and still look a knockout.
I’m wearing a black shirtdress, its long sleeves rolled up to the elbows, with my now-scrubbed-clean white trainers. It’s a more casual outfit than the one I wore the last time I came to Dirk’s, but it’s still smarter than what most of the people in here are wearing.
I need to go shopping. I only brought my best stuff with me, as you tend to do when you go on holiday, but my wardrobe is not exactly primed for a long, hot summer. Especially not a long, hot summer in grungy bars, which seems to be the destiny Bailey has in mind for me.
