Page 22 of Of Grief And Gratitude

“I’d be happy to help,” the middle O’Connor agreed, shooting me a quick wink. I scrunched my face at him.

“Absolutely not,” Sloane said firmly. “If he wants to freeze his ass off outside in the cold, fine. But he’s not coming inside my apartment. Last time I had him over for dinner, I had to replace the toilet.”

“You served Indian food!” Sean exclaimed. “You tried to burn my gut out of my body. And I paid for the toilet.”

Sloane’s eyes narrowed. “But you left me to install it!”

“Okay, fair point,” he conceded, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m not standing outside. Call me if you need my help.”

Seamus sighed and stood from his chair, effectively ending our little meeting. I skirted around Sean and Shane before they could drag me into more conversation. Both of them were acting weird, and I didn’t have the mental strength to try to figure out why.

I paused by the door to wait for Sloane, hoping she caught the context clues and understood I wanted to get out as quickly as possible. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“I’ll do that, lass.” Seamus passed by and patted my cheek affectionately before settling down behind his desk, and Sloane finally followed me from the room.

“Took you long enough,” I muttered, hurrying toward the front door as if any moment Seamus would decide to order me to date Romeo instead of suggesting it.

We passed Sam, and Sloane snagged the cuff of his jacket. “Come on. Take us home.”

“Wha–? Okay?” He looked confused, but retraced his steps and climbed in the driver’s side of his 1970 Plymouth Barracuda. He was proud of what might be the only thing he owned that didn’t have a high-tech computer running it. “Hurry up. I’ve got shit to do today, still.”

I wedged myself into the back seat and focused on work while Sam navigated the city. He pulled up to the curb in front of the apartment building owned by the O’Connors, and I waited for Sloane to slide out of the front seat before exiting.

“Thanks, Sam!” I leaned down to wave at him, getting a head nod in response before I closed the door, and his engine revved as he pulled back into traffic.

“I think we need to open a bottle of whiskey and chat,” Sloane declared as we headed into our place.

I rubbed my temples and sighed, knowing I couldn’t avoid her forever. “Yeah, that works.”

She kicked her boots off, hung her leather jacket by the door, went to the kitchen, and pulled a bottle and two mugs from the cupboard. I put my shoes neatly by the door and plopped down on the couch, letting the cushions cradle me.

I looked down at the mug of whiskey Sloane handed me and took a gulp, hoping to burn away the embarrassment of what I was about to divulge.

“I may have fooled around with Romeo,” I admitted reluctantly.

“No shit,” she deadpanned. “Was he as good as his online hype?”

“We didn’t have sex.” My face heated with embarrassment. “We got a little high and drunk; then he gave me a very thorough massage. I should probably thank you because we might have fucked if you hadn’t called.”

“Are you sure that’s doing you a favor?” Sloane teased, poking my leg with her toes.

I finished my whiskey and tried to glare at my best friend, but I couldn’t keep a straight face when she crossed her eyes. “Fuck off with that. I don’t intend to find out if the Italian’s stallion is worth the hype. The fingers were plenty.”

“So you came,” she concluded, waggling her brows.

I clenched my thighs at the memory. “Yeah, I did.”

“And?”

“It was… good.”

“Given your ability to reduce a novel to a single page, I’m going to infer that it was mind-blowing.” Sloane knew me too well.

“Sure, if you like.” I pushed myself up and found the whiskey bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. I wondered if I could wash the memories from my mind if I drank enough. How many drinks could I have without getting alcohol poisoning?

“So, are you going to do it?”

“Do what?” I pretended like I didn’t know what Sloane was asking.

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