Page 45 of The Photograph

I’ve been on a different wavelength from George almost from the first moment I met him. His job is doing marketing forGoogle, and he’s awesome at it. He does loads of fun social media stuff and is very creative, but it’s a million miles from the heavy weight of software project management and the detail and people issues that I’m faced with day to day.

I hope so.

I type. He won’t apologize for the other night, but I want to draw some boundaries here. Subjecting Alex to his drama wouldn’t be fair, so I add:

You’ll play nice?

This doesn’t elicit a response for the longest time … until:

Just tell me when and where

I can almost hear his sigh and perhaps it wasn’t a kind question. Testing the water might be the best approach, neutral territory, cocktails. George might behave or he might not; it could all be a complete crapshoot.

Cocktails? Let me check with Alex.

Pulling up the text box for Alex, I type in:

George would like to meet you.

Three dots appear straight away.

Oh God, is that a good or a bad thing?

Good, I think. Color me surprised. I have no idea how he’ll behave, fair warning.

Okay.

Tonight?

I send the message to both of them. Might as well get it over with.

The bar where Alex and I first met seems like a solid choice. It’s sophisticated and quiet and we can chat. I want them to get along. If this works out, it would be lovely if they knew each other.

When I arrive, Alex is already seated at a nearby table in his sharp suit fiddling with his cuffs, but as I wave at him, arms wrap around me from behind, a loud laugh echoing in my ear. I turn, and George’s smiling face is right next to mine.

“Hey, sweetie,” he says, planting a kiss on my lips.

I step back. Jesus, I hope that Alex doesn’t think that I … A hand lands on my waist and then Alex presses in behind me and rests his chin on my shoulder, peering at George. A hot thrill runs through me.How did he get over here so fast?

“Hello,” he says, holding out his hand around my torso. “I’m Alex.”

Oh my God, he staked a claim. He came over here and put his hands on me. And judging from George’s expression, he hasn’t missed it either. Alex’s hand doesn’t leave my hip as George takes his other hand, beaming, and then he tugs, pulling Alex in front of me and dragging him into a warm hug.

“Des will tell you I’m quite physical,” he says, and Alex laughs as George kisses his cheek.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Alex says.

This is weird.

The server hovers off to our left, and Alex turns, telling her we’ve got a table, but we’d like some more drinks. And we head over to where I spotted him a minute ago, his blue cocktail already sitting there.

As the server hands out menus, George says, “Ooooo, what did you order?”

“It’s called a Manhattan Blue.” Alex holds it out so George can sip.

George screws up his face and smacks his lips, then says, “I think I need something creamier that doesn’t hit so hard on the back of the throat.”

I look up at the ceiling as he raises his head from the menu.

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