Page 36 of Keeper
Bloody hell.
I’ve been cycling through my mind, trying to figure out if our friendship is salvageable after what’s happened. If I can get over my feelings and the hurt of Booker dismissing me so easily after what we shared together. Then when I threatened to leave and he got so worked up, I simply folded my cards. Cashed in. Because above all, I don’t want to lose my best friend. I need to figure out how to make things suck less.
On my walk back from my Friday night class, I get a text from someone who actually might be able to help.
Belle: Poppy! What are you doing tonight?
Me: Massive amounts of cool and incredible things.
Belle: So…nothing? Like me?
Me: Bingo. You and Tanner aren’t busy with wedding details?
Belle: Tanner is crap when it comes to wedding stuff. Indie and I are at my flat trying to pick out music for the wedding. We thought it might be fun to make a little impromptu hen night out of it. Have you ever drank Tequila Sunrises?
Me: No. Not a huge fan of tequila I’m afraid.
Belle: You haven’t tried THESE! Can we come over?
Me: You want to come to my flat?
Belle: Yeah, my place is a bit destroyed with wedding stuff everywhere at the moment, and Indie’s big ol’ house is all the way over in Notting Hill.
Me: Okay, sure. Booker is babysitting Rocky at Hayden and Vi’s flat tonight, so I’d love the company!
Belle: Lovely! See you soon! Xoxo
A flurry of excitement overcomes me as I hurry home to change and tidy up the flat. I’ve never had many girlfriends to speak of. Only a few from school, but we lost touch when I left for Uni. And since returning, I’ve been so engorged by…I mean entrenched by…I meandistractedby Booker that I haven’t really tried branching out much. Andrew from the gym doesn’t really count, even though he is really sweet and fun when he spots me for my reps.
Belle and Indie seem like loads of fun, so maybe this is precisely what I need to get out of my Booker funk.
I open the door and find the duo standing before me with bags in their hands. Indie’s wild red curls are in a messy top-knot, her signature eyewear a canary yellow this evening. Belle’s silky dark strands are combed over to one side, and her dark eyes are heavily lined and stunning as usual. The two are fearsome sights to behold. It doesn’t surprise me that they were able to tame the infamously wild Harris Twins.
Belle’s eyes are serious as she says, “Indie has the booze. I have the chocolate. Please tell me you have crisps or we’ll have to pop over to the shop.”
“I have crisps!” I sing and then twirl into the kitchen to find them in the cupboard.
“Thank fuck.” Belle exhales as the two drop their bags on the counter. “I love my chocolate, but drinking is so much easier with something salty.”
“That’s what she said.” Indie giggles at her little joke.
Belle deadpans, “No fucking chocolate for you.”
The two continue to jab at each other as they make themselves at home, grabbing glasses and mixing beverages like they’ve been here a hundred times. I eye them speculatively, grateful for my bottle of whiskey waiting in the wings when this tequila tasting goes sour.
Indie turns, handing me a tall glass with orange juice at the top and a red grenadine syrup floating at the bottom.
“It really does look like a sunrise,” I say with a wistful sigh. I’m sure it’ll taste awful, but at least it’s pretty. Sometimes it’s the little things.
Belle holds her glass out. “Tequila Sunrise, ladies.”
Indie repeats, “Tequila Sunrise,” and clinks her glass with ours.
“This a thing for you guys?” I murmur and sip mine gingerly. They watch me with wide, expectant eyes.
My brows arch. “It’s delicious!” I take another drink—a bigger, more satisfying gulp just to be sure. “You’ve cured me of my antipathy for tequila! I have to tell Booker about this drink.”
The two eye me like I’ve revealed some gory secret. I ignore their looks and head over to the sofa where they join me, chocolate and crisps in hand.
