Nairobi Dreaming - Complete!

Chapter 21: That night

The look on James' face. It was like I had just slapped him, which was funny because that's how I felt; like I had just been slapped out of a pleasant, sunny daydream.

I sat down next to James, took his glass and downed half the whiskey in it in one go. It smelled like moss and smoke and burned my throat like a candle flame.

There was a movie reel playing in my mind. All those soft, tender, sexy moments over the last week and a bit. That sense of unraveling into someone, of letting my guard down completely.

"Hey," James said, "We were just being lads."

There was a plaintive, almost whiny note to his voice that I had never heard before but which I instinctively didn't like. I glanced at him, then Kwame. The tension was as taut as a guitar string and I got the impression they fancied themselves tightrope walkers as they tried to navigate my response. I could imagine all the things they were silently thinking Oh no, the girl is being emotional and irrational, how do we contain her?

"I know," I said. "You should hear how women talk about men when men aren't around. We're all just like that guy's dick was fucking tiny or he had bad breath or he sweat too much. Or he didn't know how to fuck. It's all in good fun though, honestly."

Something shifted in James' face. He went from looking like I'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar to looking vaguely disgusted, like he hated the words coming out of my mouth. Good, I thought petulantly. Let him know what it feels like.

With the corner of his lip curled back and his accent taking on an extra edge of posh superiority he said, "I don't think we sounded like that."

"I'm not saying you did." I finished off the rest of the whiskey and James and Kwame exchanged a glance. I waved my hand, summoning a waiter. "Three more of these," I said, raising my glass.

"Are you certain that is a good idea?" James asked, every vowel packed full of upper crust condescension.

My temper flared. I'd loved it when he used that fancy British school boy thing on Abigail. I couldn't stand it when he turned it on me. "Absolutely," I said acidly.

"I should go," Kwame said, pushing his chair back.

"Please stay," I said, catching him with a hard stare. "I feel like you want to hear the rest of the story as much as I do."

Kwame swallowed, with effort. He was looking for something on James' face and whatever signal he was searching for he must have found it because he stayed. "Fine," He said, "But I'm not going to sit here and just watch you two fight all night."

"We're not fighting," I said.

The waiter came by proffering a tray of glasses. James accepted his glass with a polite smile. Before I could tip mine back he put a hand over the top. I glared at him, speechless.

"It's a Lagavulin twenty year," He said. "It's more of a sipper than a shot. But do you want you like."

"He means it's a rare find," Kwame jumped in before I could snap back a response, his tone soft, his dark eyes begging me to not react. "If you're a scotch girl you might be upset if you don't appreciate it."

I looked away, taking a moment. I did actually like Scotch and Lagavulin was an old favorite but I just hated how James was being. I took a measured sip and considered just letting him have it. I wanted to tell him that he was a prick but I knew that if I did that the night would be lost. We would spiral. I tried to cool my own temper. "I knew, kind of, about what Kay did," I said when I thought I could trust myself, my voice as even as it was going to get. "I ran into her that night outside of your room. I just didn't know the details." I paused, unable to help myself. I added, "Or that you... liked it."