Page 17 of Alive At Night

“Of course not.” I flashed a sickly sweet smile. “Julian is anangel.”

Gemma blinked at me twice.

Okay, maybe I laid it on a little too thick.

“Go ahead, then.” She threw her hands up. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Do you want to get out of here first?”

Gemma coached the figure skating team at St. Maverick’s, one of the many prestigious colleges in Boston. Since I made a habit of coming to the rink when I wanted to pretend it was winter, I usually dressed intentionally. Watching skating practices was the perfect excuse to don my favorite peacoat in early fall.

But today, I hadn’t planned to come, and my cardigan wasn’t cutting it. Even if I did want to cool off a bit.

After flashing me anI told you sosmirk while again giving my outfit—my ill-equipped one—a once-over, Gemma stood. “Come on. Let’s pick up some food and head back to my place.”

“Excellent.”

Gemma lived on the outskirts of Boston. She’d moved here about a year ago after landing her job at St. Maverick’s. Unlike me, she missed the small-town life and sought as much of it as possible while still working in the city. Usually, I wouldn’t drive out to her place on a weeknight, but desperate times called for desperate, suburban measures.

“So tell me about this deal you made with my brother,” she said once we’d gotten our hands on a bottle of wine and takeout from the little Italian place near her apartment. It was a mistake to sink so deep into her couch with a bowl of pasta balancing on my stomach; I doubted I’d be able to fight my way out of this comfort trap after a glass of wine and a pound of carbs.

“Actually, it was me who proposed it,” I admitted through a mouthful of five-cheese delicacy.

Gemma nearly choked on a sun-dried tomato. “What happened to keeping your head down and ignoring him?” she sputtered. “That’s what I told you to do, remember?”

I filled my mouth with another bite of pasta, afraid to tell her I hadn’t been particularly good at sticking to that tidbit of advice. But was that really my fault when Julian was the one who interjected himself intoeverything?

“He asked for help with a case, so I asked for something in return,” I explained. “Simple.”

“Julian asked for help?” Gemma snorted. “Fat chance that happened.”

“He did,” I insisted, even though I understood why she doubted it. I’d doubted it, too.

“Julian does not ask for help. He doles out unsolicited advice whenever he gets the chance. But ask for it?” She shook her head, waving her fork around as she chewed a mouthful.

“Believe me, I was just as surprised as you.” I shrugged. “But I got him to give me Noah London’s number in return, so…”

Gemma stopped chewing. Her eyes grew wide, and—oh my God, was shechoking? Shit, I wasnotconfident enough in my first aid skills for this.

To my immense relief, Gemma swallowed a second later and licked her lips clean. “For the wedding?”

We’d always ridden the same brain wavelength—ever since fighting over the same seat in the cafeteria on the first day of middle school.

I nodded. “If I have to make an appearance at Sofia’s wedding, I’m going to do it the right way.”

“As a liar?”

I flicked Gemma on the leg, and she laughed.

“I’m here for this. Really, I am, Junes. But isn’t London a bit of a player?”

“That’s what Julian was concerned about, too.”

“Yeah?” She twirled her fork in her pasta, considering my words.

“Yeah, but I’m not looking for a relationship. If he’s a one-night sort of guy, then that’s perfect for this.”

Gemma made a slight humming noise in her throat that sounded a lot like the wordsI’m not so sure about that, Juni. But when she spoke again, she asked, “Did you tell Julian why you wanted Noah’s phone number? Does he know about the wedding and Sofia?”

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