Page 40 of The Single Dad

The host shows me inside, and there’s Declan, seated at one end of the table with his jacket hanging off the corner of the chair. He gives me a casual wave.

“Reed with you?”

“No. It looks as though our boy is running late this evening,” I say, taking the chair beside him.

“There’s a shock,” Declan mutters, but there’s a teasing gleam in his eye. Despite his words, I know that he’s just thrilled to have an excuse to make fun of Reed when he finally shows up.

We only have to wait for a few minutes before Reed enters with a melodramatic sigh and spread-out arms. “My friends,” he declares, “it has been an absolute shitfest of a week. You will not believe what I’ve been through.”

“Oh, here we go,” I mutter, shooting a look at Declan. Declan, for his part, seems much more amused by Reed’s antics. He steeples his hands and grins.

God, Sophie has really mellowed him out.

“Tell us everything,” Declan says, holding out a hand to usher Reed into the third chair.

A waiter comes by to take our drink orders, and once we’ve requested three bourbons, neat, top shelf, Reed launches into his tale.

“This may come as a surprise,” Reed tells us, “but I am currently experiencing some woman-related troubles.”

I heave a sigh, looking back toward the door in hopes that our waiter will be lightning fast with our drinks. I could use some whiskey right about now.

“This latest one… un-fucking-believable, really. I don’t think I’ve ever run into anything crazier.”

Luckily, before Reed can elaborate on the turmoil he’s experiencing, the server blesses us with three rocks glasses of aged Kentucky bourbon. I lean back with a sigh, sipping mine and savoring the burn in my mouth.

“So, here’s the situation,” Reed begins. “You ever heard of Sofia Bellafonte?”

“The singer?” Declan raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t she a judge on one of those talent shows?”

“That’s right. So, this was all a couple weeks ago. I’m at the club, and the place is a fucking wasteland, so I decide to head out a little early. Maybe try to hit up a different spot. People are buzzing that there’s a little more action two doors down.”

“Don’t you think it’s unprofessional for you to be at the club trying to score?” I ask. Sometimes, Reed still acts like we’re all in college.

“I wasn’t ‘trying to score,’” Reed scoffs. “I was at the club with the intention of courting.”

“Courting,” I repeat dryly. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

Reed grins at me, like he’s actually enjoying the taunting. “Anyway, I get outside, and you’ll never guess who I run into on the sidewalk.”

“Sofia Bellafonte,” says Declan.

“Bingo!”

“Let me guess—” I start, but Reed cuts me off.

“You were about to say, ‘Oh, you obviously hit on her,’ blah, blah,” he interrupts. “Well, you’d be wrong. Because she actually comes up to me.”

Declan snorts a laugh, swirling the ice around in his glass, and catches my eye.

“She comes up to me and she goes, ‘Are you Reed Eastwood? Like the hotels?’” He mimics the singer’s high voice in a falsetto.

“She did not say that,” I mutter, deadpan.

“She did! Just like that. And of course, I say, why, yes. Yes, I am. The very same.”

“I don’t see how this story is going anywhere crazy,” Declan comments. “It sounds like you just fucked a pop star. That’s pretty standard for you.”

“Just listen, just listen. So. I’m outside of the club with Sofia Bellafonte. And she asks me where I’m going next, so I tell her, I thought I’d see what was on down a couple doors down. By this point, there’s a little action on the street. Little crowd showing up. Sofia’s bodyguard starts getting antsy; he wants us to move—probably before the paparazzi shows up.”

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