It seems now that Isabella’s back in town, I’ve been demoted back to friends with zero benefits.
I tighten my cardigan around me as a chilly late August gust flaps my skirt, and a car beeps at me while I jaywalk my way over to them.
Crap. Good one, Jess. Get yourself killed and leave poor Byron to pick up the pieces of his fiancée leaving him for his brother. Entering the restaurant, I make a beeline for Keats and Isabella’s table, my butt grazing handbags hanging off the backs of people’s chairs.
“Hey, Hay-um, Jess,” Keats says, beaming up at me with that gorgeous, wide grin of his. I haven’t seen him this happy since…the photo of him shirtless on Isabella’s mobile phone when they were still going out.
“Hi, Jess! Thanks for coming.” Isabella’s voice is pitchy and a little too eager, making me turn to study her while I take a seat on the side of the table between them. “Isn’t it great we’re all working in the city again? Easier to meet up and talk about the wedding.”
I nod, biting my lip to stop myself from grinning. Up close, it seems Isabella is still determined to keep her ex-boyfriend in place with unsubtle reminders that she’s engaged and still very much getting married.
“How’s the new job?” I ask her.
“Well, this is only my first week, so other than getting over jetlag, I’m still getting used to how everything works. Much easier so far than private practice though.” She risks a smile across the table at Keats. “I actually have pretty regular working hours. And today’s Byron’s last day of classes before the mid-semester break, so he’s coming home tonight.” She lifts her gaze to her captive audience across the table. “It’s just great to be back in Brisbane. Thanks again, Keats.”
He shrugs a sexy shoulder and nods, lips only at a half-smile now. “No worries, sweetheart.”
The smile freezes on Isabella’s face—that was what he used to call her when they were going out. A waitress comes to take our order, and Isabella excuses herself to go to the ladies afterwards. As soon as she’s out of sight, Keats releases a big breath, shaking his head.
“Fuck, this is harder than I thought,” he says, burying his face in his hands. “Every time I think I’m making progress with her, she brings up the damn wedding.”
“Maybe it’s because she’s in love with your brother. Plus, you’re not allowed to call her ‘sweetheart’ anymore, remember?”
Keats looks up at me and frowns. “You’re not helping.”
I shrug. “Why did you cancel our driving lesson this weekend?”
“Mom wants a family dinner to welcome back Byron and Isabella. Just my luck, the first full weekend she’s here is the start of his uni break. Believe me, I’d rather be sitting next to you and your lead foot revving my engine like a redneck. Or stick a fork in my eye—both would be less painful.”
His chest suddenly buzzes. Keats takes one look at the screen of his phone and swears under his breath. “I can’t get away for an hour,” he complains to me before picking up. “Davies, talk to me, buddy.” He nods a couple of times, putting a finger in his opposite ear to block out the noise of the restaurant. “Uh-huh. Look, there should be a shortcut icon on your desktop for new accounts. On your desktop. Yeah, for new accounts. Excuse me,” he says to me, getting up to take his sexy, suit-and-tie-clad self somewhere quieter.
Isabella returns to the table as Keats reaches the front door of the restaurant.
“Work call,” I say in answer to her raised brow.
“Of course. He’s kind of a big deal at the bank,” Isabella says, eyes following Keats’ retreating form with a bit too much admiration for my liking. She’s a real sucker for high achievers. “Never mentioned it when we were going out. Plus, he made a lot of time to see me, so I had no clue he was so busy and high up in the company.”
Ouch, and ouch.
The waitress comes and sets our orders in front of us which is probably good because it breaks the glare I can’t help but aim at the side of Isabella’s face. She seems totally unaware of my disdain as her eyes remain on her ex who is now talking on the footpath with one finger still in his opposite ear. The gesture lifts open his suit jacket, revealing the slim fit of his pin stripe shirt against his athletic side.
“Would that have made a difference?” I pour myself some tea before the leaves can steep too long. I’ve opted to only have the drink because I’ve already eaten my pre-packed lunch. Also, my companions don’t seem to appreciate that I’m not as high-earning as they are—in my regular, day job anyway.
“Hm?” Isabella asks, returning her attention to me.
I shake my head, letting it go. I don’t need the answer, I tell myself.
Isabella digs into her pile of leaves in balsamic vinegar, making a face as the salad hits her mouth. “I’m so sick of eating rabbit food and chicken breast but my mother’s trying her best to fatten me back up. I’d move in with Aunty Heather instead but she’s a fantastic cook, too.”
“And you’d be living under the same roof as Keats,” I point out, my jealousy like coiled rage just below the surface.
Why do I do this to myself? Why is Isabella still in my life? All that ever seems to happen is she makes my life suck by comparison. And even though I realise it’s not her fault, it still stings to be around her.
“Yes. That could get awkward. How’s he been? You think he’s moved on?” she asks in a hushed voice.
“You think he’d still be hung up on you?” I lay on the incredulity in my voice.
