I take in a deep breath and keep my voice light. "Nothing at all. I'm twenty-three years old and I like the ladies, what can I say?"
"You weren't like this with Rachel."
My chest burns at that. "You didn't even know Rachel. You met her once." Stop trying to act like you know anything about me at all, I finish in my head.
He knows he doesn't have a leg to stand on. He comes over to the register, clearing his throat. "So, how much did we do today?"
Oh boy, the worst moment of the day. Bracing myself, I look over the numbers.
It's not good. It doesn't even pay the expenses accrued.
"Well?" my dad says, and I step out of the way so he can look at them.
I glance nervously at Gemma , and we both seem to hold our breath as dad closes his eyes, his fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose again. He holds it there, trying to compose himself. Then he swallows and shakes it off.
"Thanks for your help today," he says flatly, like he couldn't conjure up any emotion if he tried.
"No problem," I tell him.
He still doesn't look at me. "School is going well? End of the year is coming."
"It's going great," I tell him, even though that's kind of a lie. But I don't dare rock the boat. I know why he's asking me. He's reminding me that soon all of this will be mine, and if I don't know what I'm doing, I'll run the business into the ground. Just like he's doing.
"Good, good," he says absently. "I'll take Gemma home. Thanks for getting her."
"Anything for my bud." I eye Gemma . She seems unreadable right now. Maybe she's already fighting orcs or something in her head instead of watching her father worry about the money they're losing. "See you soon."
I get out of there and don't seem to breathe until I'm at The Bard and Banker pub on the next block. I text Heath and tell him about the change of plans, to meet me there instead. I need alcohol in my veins ASAP. My dad, Gemma , the business, the pressure, the mention of Rachel are all swilling through my brain.
While I'm waiting for Heath in one of the small semi-enclosed booths or "snugs" as far away as possible from the band I know will start playing later, I get an email in my inbox.
From Audrey Parker.
Oh yes, I can't believe I forgot to add her to my shit pile of worries.
I gulp down half of my dark lager before I can even look at it.
When I finally read it over, I can hear her voice in my head, throwing all these superfluous words my way, as if I would get confused and not understand her whole email. She must think I'm not only a total wanker but a fucking idiot. Actually, I get the impression she thinks that way about most people.
"You need to be taken down a peg, darling," I say out loud.
"Are you talking to your phone? Or on your phone?"
I look up to see Niall peering down at me with amusement. "Or just having a spat with Siri?" he goes on. "I agree she needs to be taken down a peg. Talk about a know-it-all."
"Ugh," I say, as he sits down. "You don't want to know the bloody truth of it."
"Well, there's got to be a reason why you're looking to get drunk on a school night," Heath says, then reconsiders it. "I mean, more so than usual."
Niall is in most of my business classes and is in a similar situation to me. Meaning, pressure from his parents is the main reason why he's getting his degree. With his carefree attitude and penchant for environmental causes, Heath would be much happier surfing his life away during summers in surfers paradise and snowboarding on Mount Washington in the winter. He's also a pretty good wingman. There's something about the shaggy-haired, perpetually tanned, surfer dude that the girls can't resist. Might be the fact that he's a pot dealer and they get their weed for free.
"There's this girl in my writing class..." I begin.
"Again? How many of them are there? I should have joined that class," he remarks, signaling the waitress for a drink.
"Definitely enough of them," I tell him, even though that's not why I'm taking the class. "But I haven't slept with this one."
"Hard to get?"
I grunt. "I have no doubt she is, but I'm not even trying. She drives me up the fucking wall."
"And you're saying you haven't fucked her?" The waitress drops off his beer, giving him a dirty look before she heads back.
"No," I say emphatically. "She's not my type."
"Anything with a hole is your type, Harry."
"Fuck off," I tell him, taking a swig of my beer. I can feel it slowly go to work, my nerves unkinking one by one. "Not this girl. You know those girls who refuse to smile or laugh at anything, who are born with a silver spoon in their arse?"
"I think you mean mouth."
"It's the arse with this one. Walks around with a sense of entitlement that they think they've somehow earned because they are so goddamn serious about life? Well, that's her. I bet she doesn't even need to wear glasses, she just wears them to try and look smart."
Niall grimaces. "Damn. Is she hot? You know I have a thing for girls with glasses."
I glare at him. "Listen brother, you just heard what I said. You don't want to go near her."
