Page 31 of Someone Just Like You

Esther enlarged the photo of Eli wearing a New York Giants jersey and cooed. “Precious.” She looked up from the phone, over at Jude, and back at me. “Do you have a picture of Timothy?”

“I don’t make a habit of taking pictures of guys I’ve been out with twice, so no. Why?”

“I only saw him that one time, but am I wrong or do they look alike?”

“Who? Timothy and Eli? They’re both cute and cuddly but that’s the extent of the resemblance.” I laughed.

“Don’t be daft. I meant Timothy and Jude.”

I pursed my lips. “They look nothing alike. Timothy’s taller.”

“You and Nicole look like twins even though you’re taller.”

“What does that have to do with anything? We’re sisters.”

“I’m just saying, you have a type.”

Along with the better part of the Manhattan population, Jude and Timothy both had dark hair and eyes and a penchant for scruff, which I supposed was my type. If there was a resemblance beyond that, I didn’t see it. “Bored now,” I said to Esther, before texting Timothy back.

Molly:He just needs the right hair accessories, and he’ll be ready for his photo shoot in Dogs Illustrated.

Esther clapped. “Drinks are here!”

Jude poured from a bottle of red wine into a glass he’d set in front of me, and we watched as he prepared a dirty gin martini for Esther—expertly pouring, stirring, and straining—the sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows to showcase tanned arms dusted with dark hair.

Suddenly hot, I removed the cardigan I’d worn in the event it was cold inside the restaurant. It was late August and places often overcompensated for the heat outside by blasting the air conditioning.

After garnishing the martini with three jumbo olives, Jude said, “Let me know if it’s dirty enough.”

Esther lifted the glass to her lips and looked at Jude from under her eyelashes. “It’s perfectly sullied. Thank you.”

“I aim to please.”

Choosing not to comment on my closest friend’s blatant flirtation with my known former enemy, I watched as Jude made his way over to his date. I didn’t see a strong resemblance beyond our similar coloring. It was possible we had the same build, but I couldn’t tell while she was sitting down. Was she his girlfriend—the lawyer or a new one—or just someone he was sleeping with? They weredefinitelygetting it done. That much was obvious from her body language. She leaned in toward him and touched her lips, neck, and ears at regular intervals like she was imagininghishand caressing her andhisfingers stroking her skin. As heat pooled down low, I wondered if I should add sex to the agenda for my next date with Timothy. Clearly, I needed to get laid if the idea of Jude having sex got me hot.

I crossed my legs and turned away from them, eager to hear about Esther’s latest trip to her uncle’s. “What’s wrong?” The ruddiness I’d seen in her cheeks was gone, and all color had drained from her face.

She gripped the stem of her martini glass. “Killian is here.”

“What?” I whipped my head around. “Here? Where?”

“Right behind you,” she said between her teeth.

I saw him then—shaved head, deceptively pretty sea-green eyes, broad build—the epitome of smarmy—and he was making his way through the crowd toward us.

He reached our stools and smiled a too-broad grin. “This place is a madhouse.”

“What are you doing here?” Esther’s expression was pinched.

“I saw your post on Instagram, was in the area, and thought I’d join you.” He spoke the words as if his behavior wasn’t at all stalkery.

“I’m here with Molly.”

“The more, the merrier.” He gave me a half-assed wave before inching his way in between us and lifting her drink to his mouth.

I gasped.The nerve.She should have listened to me and blocked him.

He placed the glass back on the bar. “Not bad.”

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