I’m not proud of it.
As expected, Isabella becomes flustered—the way she always gets when someone accuses her of being full of herself.
“You’re right. Probably not. We didn’t really go out for that long—less than a month. I guess this is why most people don’t date brothers. I’m totally stuck with my ex—and worse, we’ll be family. Gosh, I can’t believe the wedding is less than three months away.”
“Does the wedding dress fit you yet?” I wish I hadn’t seen that dress first. I just get riled all over again every time I remember how Isabella will be walking down the aisle in my dream dress. She looks trim, almost gaunt, and tight all over. In a grey, designer, woollen Cue dress with black piping and slimming panels, Isabella is the picture of chic. I’ve never seen her this size before. I’d always thought she was kind of big boned and stocky, but she looks lithe—a word I never would’ve thought could describe anyone in our group.
“Yes. Just. Finally. A bit loose on the boobs though—they’re always the first to go when I lose weight; my face the last.” She touches her now-flat cheeks. “You’re looking good, too, Jess. What have you been doing?”
“Clean living,” I say, embarrassed to admit that I have lost weight only after joining a food delivery programme—like admitting I have no self-control.
“Still not drinking?”
I nod.
“Wow. We’ll have to get your bridesmaid’s dress taken in.” She smiles, looking so happy for me that I instantly feel like a total bitch for hating her earlier.
“Apologies, ladies.”
I look to my right to find Keats slipping back into his spot at the table in front of his club sandwich. His swagger and air of confidence are back, the right corner of his mouth curled like he finds something amusing. Did he sense Isabella’s eyes on him?
“Did I miss anything?”
“Sorry, I started already,” Isabella apologises.
Were we supposed to wait?
“If it makes you feel better, I’m still hungry,” she adds.
“You want some of my sandwich?” He picks up his plate to offer some to her.
“Ugh, yeah, so you better keep that away from me,” she says with an embarrassed chuckle, hand out to wave off the tempting food.
“What?” His tone is playful as he grins back at his ex. “You’re too thin.”
She makes a rude sound, shaking her head. “I know. But, I made the mistake of buying a very expensive, tiny wedding dress.”
Oh, my God. It’s like I’m watching a tennis match, looking from side to side as I follow their volley of smiles flash back and forth across the table.
“I go to the QUT pool after work Thursday nights. You can come swimming with me, if you like, sweetheart.”
“Fat chance, Keats McAllister.” Colour seeps onto Isabella’s cheeks, probably because his epithet for her has so smoothly slipped out. She fidgets with her engagement ring, her eyes anywhere but on her ex-boyfriend.
“Offer stands, if you change your mind.” His eyes are no longer smiling as he studies her while she refuses to look at him. He lowers his eyes to his sandwich, and the whole table falls into silence until Keats says, “That guy’s looking at you.”
“Who?” Isabella looks up and follow’s his gaze over her shoulder.
“Not you. Jess.”
Now it’s my turn to check who he’s talking about. Oh, God. I barely suppress the urge to dive under the table and hide. Neil McReedy smiles back at me from across the room, raising an awkward hand in a small wave. He looks yummy in his suit and professional haircut—like he and Keats came off the same hot guy production line.
“Neil.” His name is out of my mouth before my brain can tell my lips to stay shut. How did I miss seeing him when I first entered this joint? Oh, that’s right. I was preoccupied with the seeming love-fest between my two companions.
“That’s Booty Call Neil?” A little frown mars the space between Keats’ brows.
“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.” Isabella is still looking over her shoulder at Neil, who now looks like he’s deciding whether he should come over to say hi to the group of people staring at him. “He’s hot. Way to go, Jess.”
“Looks like a douche bag poser,” Keats mutters.
Isabella’s head whips to him at his comment, then turns to me, then back again at her ex. On my periphery, I see Neil begin to stand up. Shit. I get off my chair so quickly, the legs scrape against the floor with a screech.
“I better say hi to him.” I quickly negotiate my way between the chairs, wanting to head him off at the pass. He sits back down when he sees me coming, his smile turning bemused. I stop right in front of him, so that I should be totally blocking his view of my table, and vice versa. “Hi, Neil.”
“Jess, right?” he says. The last time we actually talked was in the elevator in May. We’ve exchanged nods, waves, “good mornings” and “see ya’s” since then but he’s always been in a rush in and out of the building.
“Yes.” I look over my shoulder. Keats and Isabella are still watching me. When Keats shifts in his seat, I panic that he’s going to come over. “Look, Neil, see that guy I was sitting with over there? It’s a long story, but I kinda told him you’re my booty call guy.” Ouch. That Band Aid approach hurt more than usual, but I have to keep going or I’ll read too much into Neil’s raised brows and lose my nerve. “So, if you can pretend to like me for the next five minutes, I’ll…” Shit, what do I offer him? Sex! My sex-starved mind suggests all too enthusiastically. “I’ll buy you coffee for a week. I’ll even deliver it to the thirty-fourth floor. And the good stuff, too. Starbucks,
