Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“Everything set for tomorrow night?” Kate asks casually. I’ve not known her long, but I can see the effort it’s taking her to appear nonchalant, but there’s an excited glint in her blue eyes. I hope Sam knows what he’s doing.
“All set,” I confirm as Ava pushes her plate away. Naturally, I inspect the remains, seeing she’s made a good effort. I consider the other half of the sandwich in my grasp, feeling full. I’ll never manage the rest. It’s nice to have an appetite these days, but my stomach just isn’t used to this volume of food.
“I better get back to work,” Ava says, standing.
“I’m coming.” I get up, casting the rest of the sandwich aside, ignoring Ava’s protest. She says her goodbyes while I check the bill and slip some money under a beer bottle, nodding at Kate as I do. “I got it,” I say when Sam dips into his pocket. “You can buy me afternoon tea on our next date.”
He laughs and shakes my hand as Drew stands. “Thanks, mate. I’m feeling the pinch since that prick of an estate agent moved in on my turf.”
“For real?” Sam asks, alarmed.
Drew’s pleading fucking poverty for the sake of it. He’s minted, and a few lost deals won’t change that. “You want me to suspend your membership while things are tight?” I ask.
He scowls, and it’s fucking fierce, ignoring my outstretched hand. “Fuck off, Jesse. The Manor is the only thing keeping me sane.”
I smile and collect Ava, leading her out of the bar. “Hey,” Kate calls, making us both slow. “Saturday night, girly drinks?” Is that a question or a reminder? I pout. I had planned on spending all weekend with Ava. The anniversary tomorrow, vegging on Saturday, maybe asking her something . . . major.
Ava turns to face Kate, and I sense her tension, although Kate’s interested gaze aimed my way keeps my attention. What’s she playing at? Testing me? Goading me? Her earlier words on our phone call suddenly ring in my head.
Depends? Are you gonna chill the fuck out a bit?
I had laughed. Wondered what the fuck she was talking about. “Depends if your mate persists with the never-ending insolence,” I had replied. “So will you help?”
Kate had agreed. Laughed. But she was serious about me chilling out.
This is a test.
“Maybe next week,” Ava says, a little high-pitched and squeaky.
I desperately search for the words I need to prove to Kate that I can pass her test. “You can go.” I spit it out fast before my mouth seizes shut. She can go out, but you bet your arse she won’t be drinking in excess. In fact, probably best she doesn’t drink at all, especially if she insists I’m not allowed to go with them. Which she will.
“No,” Ava retorts, adamant. “We have The Manor anniversary tomorrow. I’ll be knackered.” I’d like to think she’s dead set on spending the whole weekend with me. Sadly, I realize she’s simply trying to avoid a showdown in front of our friends. Kate can go fuck herself if she thinks she’s putting me on the spot and I’ll bow. Not when it comes to Ava’s safety and my sanity.
“Hey, he said it’s cool.” Kate’s eyes remain on mine. She must see the warning radiating from me.
“I’ll speak to you later.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Kate, her grin impish, returns her attention to Ava, and I appreciate the alleviation of pressure immediately. “Later.”
I pull Ava on, keen to get myself out of the spotlight and any further scrutiny, damning Kate’s arse to hell. Testing me. I might take that fucking van back.
As we wander side by side down the pavement, Ava tucked under my arm, I feel the familiar sense of despondency creeping up on me. That was the fastest hour in the history of hours. And the next four hours are guaranteed to feel like days. I notice Ava’s laser focus stare aimed forward, her face contemplative. And I know exactly what she’s thinking.
She stops and looks at me. “If I go out, I won’t be drinking, will I?”
“No.” I don’t beat around the bush. Honestly is the best policy.
I flinch at my own thoughts—I have a nerve—and Ava marches off, looking quite exasperated. I just don’t understand. Why on earth would she want to make herself vulnerable like that? Risk making terrible choices, and then have a god-awful hangover to show for it that’ll wipe her out for a day, therefore steal more time from me. “You can have a drink at the party,” I call, going after her, hoping to appease her. If she must drink, fine, but we need to come to mutually agreeable terms, and my presence in the presence of alcohol seems reasonable.
“Would you get the doormen to spy on me too?” she asks.