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She passes by, giving Declan a wave on her way to the table where Tess is waiting for her.
“Hey.”
I look over the bar to see Declan watching me watch her.
“What?” I gulp half the pint down in a few swallows.
“What’s going on with you?” Now there’s no question about it. He’s concerned.
“Nothin’,” I say, contemplating the Jameson in the well behind the bar. Maybe if I get drunk enough, I’ll manage to put my cock into a booze-induced coma.
Right—because it worked so well last night.
“You sure?” Declan looks at the pint in front of me like he’s sorry he poured it. “Because you fucked the cocktail waitress last night. That’s not like you.”
I didn’t fuck Lisa but I didn’t correct him. Let him think what he wants. “Maybe I’m just tired of letting Con have all the fun,” I say with a shrug, already tired of this conversation.
Declan shakes his head at me. “You’re too smart to pull that shit and I’m too smart to buy it.”
“How’s the wedding planning coming along?” I swivel in my stool, looking directly at Tess for a second before turning back to Declan. “Mind if I bring date?”
“You’re too smart for that too.” Declan’s jaw sets, his hand going tight around the towel again.
I scoff, aiming another look over my shoulder, letting him think I was checking Tess out when the only thing I can see is Cari. “Smart is overrated.”
Growing up, Conner and I used our fists on each other plenty and I’ve had to pull Con and Declan apart more than once before things got too bloody, but me and Declan? We’ve never come to blows.
I have a feeling that’s about to change.
He must feel it too because he loosens his grip on the towel and blows out a sigh. “Look, I’m just worried about you. That’s it.”
“Keep your worry.” I drain the pint and push my empty across the bar. “Give me a Jameson.”
Declan snatches my empty glass off the bar and drops it in the sink. “What the fuck did Conner do to you last night?” He’s not looking at me when he asks so I don’t answer.
He’s also not pouring me a Jameson.
Before I can reach across the bar and help myself, the door behind me flies open again. This time ushering in a swirl of moderately expensive perfume and the fast click of knock-off stilettos. This time I don’t have to turn around to see who it is.
Jessica.
“I don’t care who’s in the hospital,” she says in a tone that shrivels my balls. “I have a cake tasting scheduled for 1:45.” Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of her leaning across the bar, pouty lips puckered, smudging lipstick across Declan’s cheek. She’s fake—every inch of her from her bleach blonde hair, right down to her bogus shoes. The door knocker of a diamond sparkling on her finger is the only thing real in between. I let out a sound that would’ve been a laugh if it didn’t feel so sharp and nasty against the back of my throat.
“I don’t want excuses,” she hisses in the phone, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. “I want a wedding cake and there better be someone there to sell me one.” She jabs her finger at her phone, silencing the apologies of whoever she’d been verbally abusing, before giving Declan her full attention. “What are you still doing here?” She says, rubbing her thumb against his cheek, smearing lipstick across his face. “My parents are meeting us for dinner at six.”
I look at my watch. It’s not even noon.
“Hey, Jess,” I say, calling her Jess because she hates it and I’m just drunk enough to not give a shit. Our brewing fight forgotten, Declan shoots me a warning look before exchanging my empty glass for a few fingers of Jameson. Probably in hopes of bribing me into keeping my mouth shut.
“I have zero time for your shit, Conner,” she says to me, narrowed eyes taking in my three-day beard, ratty t-shirt and cargos. I give a fleeting thought to correcting her but I kinda like the fact that someone who’s seen me a thousand times and standing right next to me has mistaken me for Conner. I lift my glass and down the whiskey, muttering “fuck off,” into the bottom of the glass between swallows.
Acting like she didn’t hear me, she turns toward Declan again, giving him a what are you doing just standing there look. “Well? Let’s go.”
Declan sighs. “I can’t just go, Jessica,” he says to her, gesturing around the bar. “I’m working.”
“No, you’re not,” she says. “You’re standing here, talking to your brother.”
“I’m the only one behind the bar,” Declan says in the kind of tone you’d use to reason with cranky toddlers. “That means I’m working.”