“The one you go to for a good time.”
“I doubt that,” she says dryly.
“You have firsthand experience, love. I don’t recall any complaints.” I watch as a gorgeous flush crawls up her neck and settles on the tops of her cheekbones.
Coughing into her hand, she adjusts in her seat, as if she’s trying to shake off my words. “And where is the third in your band of brothers?”
“With his daughter, Ophelia. It’s his weekend.” My chest fills with warmth when I think of my other best friend and his little girl. Ophelia is only three, and she’s a spitfire who has stolen even the most grisly of hearts with a single sassy hip pop.
“That’s nice.” Fondness laces her tone, making me curious.
“Are you close to your parents?” It’s risky, asking such a personal question, but something about this night mirroring the first time we met each other—before we knew who the other was and there were no expectations or restrictions to what we could or could not say—has me feeling reckless.
She hesitates long enough that I think I must have over stepped, but then she answers quietly, “To my dad, yes. He’s probably my best friend and a big reason I moved here.” There’s an aura of love pulsing from her, and it softens all her sharp edges. But within a second, she seems to realise what she admitted—whoshe admitted it to—and straightens in her seat, clearing her throat and spearing me with a look.
Where anyone else would have looked away after being unintentionally vulnerable, she stares down the barrel of the gun and takes a step closer. And though she’d never back down, never ask for a reprieve, I give her one anyway.
I throw back the last of my Old Fashioned, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat. “So, what do you do for fun?”
“Pardon?”
“Fun. The thing humans do for personal enjoyment.
She rolls her eyes. “I work.”
“That’s not fun,” I argue.
“Do you not find your job fun,Mr. Stone?” And we’re back to formalities.
“I certainly do,Miss McKallen, but it is still work. It still comes with responsibilities and a lot of pressure. So while yes, I find rugby fun, it’s not what helps me recharge. Maybe once upon a time, it did…” I trail off.
“I don’t have time to unwind. I have multiple businesses, a rugby club to run, and a sic—” She halts what she was about to say. “I don’t have time.”
“We’ll have to sort that out.”
Jade rolls her eyes. “Do you have a habit of interjecting yourself where you aren’t welcome?”
“Just with you, apparently.”
It didn’t sit well with me that all she ever did was work. The google search I did weeks ago told me she was only twenty-seven, just a year younger than me. It seemed a damn shame someone as young as her didn’t have somesort of outlet. How did she express her emotions if she never had time to process them?
“I work hard, and I’m successful.” As if that’s all that matters, all she needs. Maybe she feels that way.
“But are you happy?”
She sips on the last of her mojito, staring me down with an expression I can’t read before hopping off her stool.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Off to watch my friend perform. I’ve heard live music isfun.”
The sound of her heels clicking against the floor is a drumbeat that accompanies Aanya’s guitar and ethereal voice.
I pried too much, pushed too hard.
And every step she takes away from me feels like another nail in the coffin, sealing away whatever tentative friendship I thought we had been forming.
I can’t figure out why that bothers me so much.
