Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)(38)

I let out a small, annoyed laugh. “I do. Second or third degree. I don’t really talk to them.”

“Yeah, well.” She shrugs. “Listen, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but…it’s better for everyone if we move on. I mean, you aren’t so innocent yourself.”

“How so?”

“You and Hot Rich Guy were in touch the whole time. And I don’t blame you—keep your options open. But we can move past the recriminations, no?”

“I think that I’m allowed to be angry at my roommate for banging my ex. And maybe I’m also allowed to be angry at my closest friend for not taking my side more forcefully.”

“I know you think that. It’s because you have significant anger issues.”

My eyes turn to slits. “That is low, Rose.”

“Oh, come on, Maya. She’s my cousin.”

I have to take half a million deep breaths, before I can say, “I get where you’re coming from.” I slide out of the booth, hopping off the elevated platform. “I just wish you tried to do the same.”

I walk away, done with the conversation, letting resentment twist through me. Staying with Rose seems pointless, especially when there’s someone else I’d rather spend time with. Someone who’s not going to lie to my face. Plus, I want something stronger than soda.

At the counter, I lean over to catch the bartender’s attention. Fail, repeatedly, until Conor appears at my side.

“Hey,” he tells the woman. “She’ll have…”

“A shot. Tequila.”

He winces. “I just purchased alcohol for my friend’s underage sister. Brilliant.”

“It’s perfectly legal. I’ve been drinking since I was sixteen, anyway—”

“Did not need to know that.”

“—so I built up some really good enzymes.”

A shot slides my way. I down it quickly, feeling Conor’s eyes fixed on my bobbing throat, the heat that starts in my stomach and spreads in all directions.

When I slam the glass on the dark wood, the bartender pours me another.

Conor’s eyebrow rises.

“Shots are smaller here.” I lean against the counter, facing him. “So, do you like my friends?”

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

“Some of them are great. The birthday boy will go far in life.”

“Yeah, Sami’s awesome.”

“But the one in the tracksuit?”

“Jethro.”

“He’s thinking of starting a podcast. And I’m not sure that what he has to say is monetizable.”

“I’m not convinced anyone listens to him for free.” I snort. “Have any of the guys asked you for a loan yet?”

He shrugs. “Not in so many words, no.”

“But?”

“The guy with the fringe tried to pitch me his dating app for adult diapers lovers.”

“Grant? I always suspected that he was a weirdo, but—”

“The weirdo is someone else,” a voice interrupts me. When Conor and I turn, Alfie is standing close by. Wasn’t it just the two of us, a couple of shots ago?

“Excuse me?” I ask. But Alfie’s not looking at me, and his face is ruddy, like he drank too much.

“You are the perv, aren’t you, mate?”

“Well, yeah.” Conor nods, unfazed. “Not sure how you found out about that, though.”

“Takes a single look. How old are you?”

“Thirty-five.”

Alfie’s smile is mean-spirited. I’ve never seen his face do anything like that. I like to believe that if I had, we wouldn’t have lasted as long as we did. “Do you know how old Maya is? Twenty. She could be your daughter.”

“You’re way overestimating the game I had at fourteen, mate.” Conor takes another sip of his stout, then sets it aside. “But it’s only fair that you worry.”

Alfie puffs up. “Glad you see the issue.”

“Of course I do. You care about Maya, who’s very young—younger than the both of us—and you wouldn’t want me to take advantage of her…na?veté, shall we say?” He must notice my scowl, because his fingers rise up behind me and drum against my spine. Patience. “You respect her, want the best for her, and cannot stand to see her hurt. For all you know, I’ll exploit her trust, and maybe even break her heart. And that would be so fucking callous of me, wouldn’t it?”

Alfie’s cheeks grow even redder—from the alcohol, the heat inside the pub, the shame, I can’t tell. All I know is that Conor’s arm is wrapping around my shoulder, tugging me closer, curling in to rub his knuckles against my jaw.

Nice. It’s nice.

“Word of advice, lad?” Conor says.

Alfie nods stiffly.

“Get out of my sight. Right now. And do not talk to Maya unless you’re answering a question she personally asked you.”

When Alfie looks at me wide-eyed, vaguely shocked by the threat, I smile and tell him, “You should do as he says. He’s so much older than us, there’s no telling what his impulse control is.”

Alfie bristles away. When he’s out of sight, I angle my body toward Conor’s, savor the unfurling warmth of the tequila, and say, “That was fun.”