Speakeasy (True North #5)(53)

“So, if it’s just sex,” he whispers into my ear, “then let’s go have some more of it. After I make you scream, you can tell me how I’m the only one who makes you do that.”

The man has a point. And if he and I weren’t the worst idea in the whole damn world, I’d probably admit it.

Though we are a terrible idea. There’s no getting around it. Even as I’m thinking this, Alec leans in and kisses me again. But I can no longer relax. A moment later my anxiety proves useful, as I hear footfalls on the stairs. I put two hands in the center of Alec’s chest and push him. It’s a wordless signal to stop.

He does, immediately. And then it’s obvious he’s heard the footsteps, too. He takes a step to the side, putting a more casual distance between us. The expression on his face is one I’ve never seen there before. Hurt.

A second later Audrey appears on the landing. “Everything okay?” she whispers.

“Yes!” I stage-whisper back. And then I feel like a traitor when I add, “Just listening to make sure the baby stays asleep.”

“Aw,” Audrey says, tiptoeing past us to peek through the cracked-open door to Nicole’s room.

Alec shoves his hands in his pockets and turns away, heading down the stairs.

“Griff is waiting for us,” Audrey says. “Ready to go home?”

“Yeah,” I whisper.

When we go downstairs, I look around for Alec. I don’t want to leave things in such a weird place. But I can’t find him in the kitchen, the dining room, or the now empty living room.

My brother and Audrey are thanking Zara for the party and fussing in the kitchen. To move things along, I decide to carry a few gifts outside.

“Holy cow,” I say when I get a look at the gifts table. I don’t even know if it will all fit in my brother’s truck. I stack a couple of gifts together and carry them outside. After depositing them on the back seat of the truck, I spy someone across the street leaning against his truck under the street light.

It’s Alec. His phone is in one dangling hand, and his head hangs as if it’s too heavy.

Without giving it a thought, I cross the street to him. “Hey. Everything okay?”

“No.” He looks up and we make eye contact. Sort of. It’s like looking at a stranger. “Hamish didn’t make it.” Alec’s eyes shine.

“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.” I take a step forward, but he holds up a hand to stop me.

“I gotta go.” He turns his body and yanks the truck’s door open.

“Wait…”

“Thanks, but—” He’s already climbing in. “—that’s outside of our ‘just sex’ boundaries, right?” He slams the door and cranks the engine.

It’s harsh, to be sure. But his friend just died.

And also, he’s right. Not five minutes ago I told him, essentially, that he’s just a penis to me. But he isn’t. He’s a good friend.

Alec looks over his shoulder, and I realize he’s waiting for me to move a safer distance from his truck before he pulls away.

So I do it. Even if I’ve messed everything up tonight, I can at least get that right.

I watch his taillights glow red as he drives around the town green, then heads toward the Gin Mill.





Chapter Twenty





May


Two days later at a few minutes past noon, I park my car in the usual spot at the side of Alec’s building. And—if possible—I feel even guiltier than I have these past forty-eight hours. I always park here because I’m hiding. I don’t want people to see us together.

In my defense, it never occurred to me that Alec would think it meant I didn’t want to be seen with him. He’s a great guy. The best. I’m proud to call him a friend. I’d rather not advertise the other part of our relationship, though. My family would wonder why I’ve thrown myself into a sexual relationship with a known playboy who owns a bar. They’d think it was self-destructive behavior.

They might be right.

And then there’s another issue. I feel weird about getting involved with a man when I’ve been saying all year that I could only see myself with women going forward.

On the other hand, I excel at getting things wrong.

But if Alec and I are just a temporary fling, I’d really rather not have my fickle tastes discussed like the weather every Thursday Dinner. The family hot mess can’t keep a girlfriend and really has no idea what she wants in her life.

There’s a fun conversation I don’t need.

I get out of the car, bringing a shopping bag with me. Yesterday—Sunday—I knitted until my hands ached. Then I sat up last night blocking the finished pieces of Alec’s sweater and stitching the sleeves to the body. At two a.m. I knitted the roll-edge collar, and then I was done.

Slamming my car door, I look up at the windows to Alec’s apartment. I hope he’s here.

“Hey.”

I just about jump out of my skin at the sound of his voice. When I whirl around, he’s emerging from the trees with two big garbage bags. He carries these to the dumpster and pitches them in.

“Hi,” I squeak. “You startled me.”

“I can see that.” He bangs the top of the dumpster shut.

“What are you doing?”