The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(60)

“Men,” I mouth.

Eddie frowns as he holds his hand up. “What men?” he mouths back.

“All of them,” I mouth.

Eddie nods, finally understanding the game. “A big bunch of guys. Good-looking dudes too.”

I smile goofily as I listen.

He cares.

“What did she wear?” Eddie frowns as he repeats the question. His eyes meet mine, and he scrunches up his face.

“White dress,” I mouth.

Eddie lies for me again. “I don’t know, a white dress.” Eddie listens and then rolls his eyes. “I’m not cutting up her dress.”

I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing.

“I’m not sure,” Eddie replies. He listens a bit. “Okay, I’ll try.”

“What?” I mouth.

He waves his hand in a don’t worry sign.

“I’m good.” He smiles. “No, it’s sunny.” He listens again. “I start at three. I’m going to the market with Miss Hazen this morning to buy fruit.” He frowns, and his eyes meet mine. “Don’t tell her you called? Why not?”

My heart sinks as I wait for the reply.

“Oh . . . I see.” He listens, and then eventually, he smiles. “Okay, bye.” He hangs up.

“What did he say?” I blurt out.

“Not to tell you he called.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know . . . I forget,” he lies.

“You’re covering for him?” I gasp.

“He’ll call you, don’t worry.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, is he calling you back?” I ask him.

“He said he’ll call me tomorrow.”

“Oh . . .” I go over the conversation they had, desperately trying to work out what it all means, and we walk in silence for a while.

“He likes you,” he says.

My eyes flick up. “Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to.”

“Well then, how do you know?”

“Men know these things . . . and besides, how could he not?”

I smile. This adorable young man is everything and more. I link my arm through his, grateful for his friendship. “Let’s get an ice cream on the way home too.”

Eddie smiles broadly. “Okay.”





CHRISTOPHER

The restaurant is busy and bustling, loud music is playing, and in typical New York style, everyone is out on a Monday night.

The city that never sleeps.

My brothers laugh and chat, and with every moment that I spend with them, I feel a little more myself.

Jameson holds his hand and makes a fist. I’ve seen him do it a few times today.

“What’s up with your hand?” I ask.

“Fuck knows.” He opens his hand and makes a fist again. “My two middle fingers are sore, like, aching.”

I sip my scotch. “Did you injure them?”

“No.” He opens his hand again. “It’s in the knuckle and up into my fingers and down into the palm of my hand.”

Elliot winces. “That can’t be good.”

“RFI,” Tristan replies casually into his glass.

“What’s RFI?” I ask.

“Repetitive fingering injury.”

I snort my drink up my nose. “What?” I cough.

“No shit,” Tristan says in all seriousness. “It’s hard work keeping these women satisfied.”

“Right,” Jameson agrees. He opens his fist and closes it again.

Tristan holds out his two middle fingers and curls them up, simulating his fingering action. “Does this hurt?”

Jameson does it, and he winces. “Yes. It does.” His eyes flick around the table. “I do fucking have it,” he snaps, horrified.

“It’s all downhill from here,” Elliot says. “You’ll never get laid again if there is a kink in the warm-up chain.”

“Fucking hell,” Jameson mutters under his breath. “The warm-up chain is already well and truly fucked up by the three cockblockers who live in my house rent-free.”

“You mean . . . your children?” Elliot mutters dryly.

Jameson narrows his eyes as he crunches a piece of ice.

I smirk, amused.

“I’m hearing you, man. I got a huge-ass lock . . . so now instead of barging in, they just stand out there banging, screaming, ‘Open the door!’” Tristan curls his lip in disgust. “And now, with the RFI kink in the warm-up chain . . . I’m basically fucked.”

“And not in the right way.” Elliot smiles.

Jameson rolls his eyes and drains his glass. “This wasn’t in the brochure.”

The table erupts into laughter, and I look around the table at my three happily married brothers. “What was in the brochure?” I ask them.

“What do you mean?” Tristan asks.

“How did you know you’d met the . . .” I pause.

“The one?” Elliot asks.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “For interest’s sake.”

“Hmm.” Jameson runs his fingers over his stubble as he thinks back. “I didn’t really know at the time. Like, there wasn’t a lightning-bolt moment when I knew, as such.”