Page 22 of Best Man
“Yes, you are,” he says. “I knew I shouldn’t have done this.” He rubs his hand over his hair. “You’re so young, and I know that this seems like a game to you. You even told me that.”
“I told you that to lighten you up.” I watch as he flings himself onto a sofa and stares moodily at me. “So you didn’t look constipated every time I spoke. And I’ll thank you to remember that I’m twenty-four, not six. And I’m actually here doing you a fucking favour.”
He stares at me and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, his eyes looking contrite. I stand rigid, not prepared to just accept that, and he smiles. “You look like you’re thinking of ways to kill me.”
“I’ve already done that,” I say tartly. “Now, I’m working on methods of body disposal.”
That startles a laugh out of him, and I relent suddenly. It’s hard to hold out against the power of that slightly rusty laugh. I lower myself onto the other sofa in front of him. “I’m sorry too,” I say softly. “Just do me a favour and stop saying how young I fucking am. It properly winds me up. Like you think I’m a fucking child. Either that or you’re using it to make sure I know my place.”
“I don’t think you’re a child,” he says slowly, and for a second our eyes meet and seem to tangle and get caught as we stare at each other. I hold my breath, but he shakes his head and looks down at the table between us. “You’re right,” he says reluctantly.
“I am?” I sound very startled.
“Yes, I’ll note it in my diary.” He smiles at me, all traces of reserve suddenly gone, melted away under the sweetness of that curve of hismouth. “I really am sorry,” he offers, looking suddenly a lot younger. “I’m on edge, and I didn’t need that little scene outside.”
“Why are you on edge? Do you want him back?” I ask abruptly.
He looks startled and then thoughtful, and my stomach drops. “At one point I did,” he says slowly. “If you’d asked me a year ago, I’d have said yes. But now?” He shrugs.
“Now what?” I ask, and he must sense the sudden passion in my voice, because he looks slightly worried. Like I’m going to leap on him with a ring, demanding to be married instantly. It itches and stings under my skin like I’ve grabbed a nettle with my bare hands.
I sit back deliberately and coolly. “I need to know, Zeb, because if you’re making a play for the groom at his wedding, then we’re edging out of romantic comedy and into something a bit darker.”
He looks offended. “I’dneverdo that.”
“I don’t think it’s entirely up to you,” I say, thoughtfully watching him. “I think Patrick still has feelings.”
He shrugs dismissively. “I suppose some feelings don’t just go away. Me turning up with you must have thrown him. It’s not easy to see your ex with someone else, no matter how much you’ve moved on.”
“Hmm. Well, I’d watch your step with him this week because there’s something a bit off about all of this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean having it here where you used to come together, inviting you to be best man. He’s either very determined to rub your nose in it, or he’s got another agenda.”
“What?” He sounds startled. “What do you mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Don’t listen to me.” I bite my lip. “After all, if I’m not staking ownership of the Wendy house or throwing sand at the other children, I’m having my afternoon nap.”
He laughs loudly, his eyes creased. “You’re not a kid,” he finally says, and I smile at him.
“I promise that I won’t behave like one,” I say impulsively. “I don’t want to embarrass you. I’ll behave like an adult. I’ll be reasonable and assured and a cool head in any crisis.” He looks like he wants todispute this, and I eye him for a moment. “Unless he’s horrible to you,” I say firmly. “Then all bets are off.”
FOUR
ZEB
I stand outside on the balcony, the late afternoon sun laying stripes across the floor. Listening out, I can still hear the hiss of the shower where Jesse has ensconced himself. I think of that lithe form with soap bubbles trailing down it and shake my head firmly.Nope.I turn my attention back to the phone in my hand.
“This is a disaster,” I hiss.
“I’m sorry. Is this a conversation or Chinese whispers?” my twat of an assistant whispers back. “Hang on, though. I was good at this in Cubs. I think you said that you liked James Acaster. That’s fine with me. He’s a very funny comedian.”
“Do I pay you too much?” I wonder.
“Put it out of your head,” he says comfortingly. “Now, why is this a disaster? You’re away for a few days with an extremely gorgeous younger man. Were you a pessimistic child, Zeb? Because all the signs are pointing that way.”
“I’m also away with my ex-lover, his future bride, and two sets of families who hate me,” I mutter. “Oh, and Jesse and Patrick clashed heads earlier.”
