How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(38)
“Yes, fine,” I said finally.
“Hey, do you two want to find a quiet bar somewhere for a few drinks? I’m not really feeling the stuffy atmosphere in here,” Conor said and an idea sprung to mind. After our little heart to heart, I wanted to do something nice for him.
“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we all go back to my place? I have some beers in the fridge.”
“Are you sure Yvonne won’t mind?” Conor asked warily.
I waved him away. “Not at all. Yvonne loves company.” I knew she be annoyed at me for outing her lie to Conor that she was working tonight, but he already knew it was an excuse, so there was no point keeping up the charade.
Besides, if everything went to plan, she’d be thanking me for my determination to get them together before long.
*
I slotted my key in the door and led Conor and Dylan inside. The living room was empty, so I thought Yvonne must’ve gone to bed. I hoped she wasn’t asleep yet.
“Make yourselves comfortable. I’m going to get out of this dress.”
Dylan gave a sultry look. “I can help with that.”
“Nice try. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I went into my room to change into my pyjamas, navy sweatpants and a Wicked T-shirt that read, ‘Defy Gravity’. Yvonne took me to see the show the week I arrived, and I bought the T-shirt from the merchandise stand, cracking a joke to the girl by asking if its witchy magic would ensure my boobs defied gravity. I told the same joke to Yvonne every time I wore it, but she stopped finding it funny after the fourth or fifth time.
I went to knock on her bedroom door, but when I didn’t get an answer I ducked my head inside. She sat in bed reading a book, her hair in a knot, eyes wide.
“Who’s out there?” she whispered.
I closed the door and stepped inside. “Just Conor and Dylan. We got bored at the gala and decided to come here. I hope that’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t okay. Conor invited me tonight and I told him I was working. I’m going to have to hide in here until they leave.”
“Yvonne, I’m pretty sure Conor knows that was a lie. He isn’t stupid. He knows you don’t want to date him.”
She chewed on her lip, looking torn. “Do you think I should go out there and apologise?”
“I’m sure he’d appreciate your honesty.”
She took a deep breath. “Okay, just let me fix my hair first.” She went over to her dresser, pulled her hair out of its knot and ran a brush through it. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous. Now come on. We have visitors waiting.”
When we emerged, Dylan and Conor sat chatting on the couch. I went to grab the beers from the fridge while Yvonne approached Conor.
“Hey,” she said, voice quiet. “I’m sorry for fobbing you off about tonight.”
He gave her a soft look. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Can I give you a hug?”
His expression warmed. “Sure.”
She approached him and threw her arms around his shoulders. He held on to her for a long moment, squeezing tight before he let go. I shared a look with Dylan. We both wanted something to happen between them, but we knew there was no point meddling. Well, not any more than I’d already meddled by bringing Conor to the apartment.
I set the beers on the coffee table and told everybody to take one. Yvonne declined, instead opting to make herself a cup of peppermint tea.
“Oh, Ev, you’re wearing the T-shirt. Tell them your joke,” she said as she came back in and settled down on an armchair.
I shot her a wry look. “I thought you hated that joke.” Also, it wasn’t so much a joke as a funny statement. At least, I found it funny, because I was a dork.
“I do, but that’s only because I’ve heard it twenty times.”
“What’s the joke?” Dylan asked, gaze skimming the curve of my hip. I thought of our phone call last night and flushed all the way to my toes.
I took a swig of beer. “So, I got this T-shirt when Yvonne took me to see Wicked, and I asked the girl on the merch stand if it had magical powers, and if so, did it enable the wearer’s boobs to defy gravity.”
“That is one terrible, cheesy fucking joke,” Conor chuckled.
“Yeah, I never knew your sense of humour could sink so low,” Dylan added teasingly.
“Hey, I have a great sense of humour,” I protested, smiling. I felt a little tipsy from the wine at the event and the beer I was currently drinking.
“If by great you mean an eighties sex comedy,” he said, hoping to get a rise out of me. I could tell by the shine of mischief in his eyes. I wasn’t going to let him win, trying to think of a snappy comeback.
“Well, you . . . you have the sense of humour of a politician making a joke about a rival politician, like he’s wants to fix the problems in education, but he can’t even fix his own hair in the morning, and then everyone in their party starts laughing like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.”
Dylan chuckled loudly. “That is quite possibly the most specific putdown I’ve ever heard.”
“Didn’t you ever watch Oireachtas TV back home? They’re always cracking jokes like that,” I said. “It’s upsetting.”