I scoff, waving him off, but the memory of that conversation is clear as day. That was a hard-and-fast rule, and we’d never broken it… until now.
“Plus,” he continues, “look at you.”
“What about me?” I ask, crossing my arms, daring him to say something.
“Oh, come on, man. Look at your nails.” He gestures, laughing his head off when I flip him off again, this time showing off the very pink nails she painted. “You’re sitting here with pink nails, and you’re gonna tell me this is just a fling?”
“Whatever, man,” I mutter. “This is just my new style.” I try to sound casual, but even I can feel the lameness in my own excuse.
He snorts. “Sure, sure. You keep telling yourself that.” He leans in, eyes sparkling. “At least tell me you’re not still planning to go through with this wedding.” I stay silent because the truth is I don’t know. A part of me wants to say screw it and marry Blair instead, but it’s insane. We barely know each other, and who’s to say she feels the same way?
“Fucking hell,” Desmond says, rubbing his hand over his face. “Do you know how big a hole you’re digging for yourself?”
“I know, alright?” I snap, frustration boiling over. “But I need to marry Abigail. I can’t back down now… fuck, this is getting out of hand, but I’m so close.”
“It is. But you know I got your back no matter what,” he says. “From birth to death.”
A smile tugs at my lips. That phrase has been ours since we were kids, bonded by love even though we don’t share the same blood.
My parents adopted Desmond before I was even conceived. Mom found him abandoned in a dumpster while leaving work. He was just a newborn, barely clinging to life.
“From birth to death,” I repeat, the words comforting despite the chaos. I blow out another stream of smoke, needing to change the subject. “Tell me how the new restaurant’s coming along.”
Desmond leans back, relaxing slightly. “Everything’s on track. I’m heading back in a few days to meet with the contractors.”
“So, still on schedule?”
“Give or take a week,” he says with a shrug, the easy confidence in his voice making me proud.
“Is… everything okay here?” The sound of Blair’s voice pulls us both from our thoughts. I look towards the door and God, she’s stunning. A smile spreads across my face the moment she steps out onto the terrace.
“Come here.” I gesture for her, and she saunters over. I pull her into my lap, savoring the warmth of her body against mine.
“Can I?” Blair asks, pointing at my blunt. Both Desmond and I exchange puzzled glances; I wasn’t expecting that.
“Sure.” I pass it to her, and she takes a drag, inhaling as deeply as she can without coughing, as if she’s done this athousand times before. She takes another hit, and I reach out to take the blunt away.
“Alright, chill.”
“You’re no fun,” she pouts, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“And apparently, you’re too much fun,” I tease. Here I was thinking she was innocent.
“So what are we talking about?” she asks, wiggling a bit to get comfortable on my lap, inadvertently making my body react in ways I can’t control.
“Desmond’s opening a restaurant in New York…”
“Oh, yes! You own Luxe, right? We went to your restaurant here in Boston. The food was delicious!” she praises, her eyes lighting up.
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I hope to see you at the opening of the New York restaurant. Calvin will be there.”
Blair’s body tenses, just barely, but I notice. I notice every little shift in her, every flicker in her eyes, even as she keeps up her conversation with Desmond, laughing and teasing like nothing’s wrong. I don’t push; it’s not the time. But something’s definitely off.
Hours later, after we’ve said our goodbyes, we’re in the car heading back to the penthouse. And while the night was perfect, Blair laughing, blending in with my family like she was born to be there, the second we got into my car, her mood changed. That easy smile she’d worn all night slipped away, replaced by a hard, distant look. She’s barely glanced my way since we pulled off, staring out the window, her jaw tight. The silence is killing me.
In the short time I’ve had her in my life, I’ve become completely addicted to her. To the sound of her voice filling every quiet space, to her quick-witted comebacks and teasing that make me want to pull her close and kiss that sass right off her lips. But what hooks me most is the way she looks atme, really sees me, like I’m more than the suit, more than the image everyone expects. But right now, she’s shut down, withdrawn, and it’s messing with my head.
“Worry me,” I say, keeping my voice gentle.
