Page 51 of Things I Overshared

At the start, the twin stud muffins are beside themselves at the idea of a professional pub crawl.

“What, don’t get out much now with the wife and baby, Tim?” I say on our second set of tiny samples.

“Oh, hardly ever. Haven’t been down Bermondsey in a decade! The little lad’s worth it though!” he says.

I light up. “Have any pictures?”

“’Course.” He nods as he gets out his phone.

“Oh, now you’ve done it.” Thomas smiles.

“You’re telling me you don’t have your own album of your nephew on your phone?” I snipe at the single brother who’s looking sexier by the second.

He laughs. “Busted.”

I ramble on and on about Junior, who is two, and add in a few stories of my own nephews. I show them my own munchkins album on my phone. I amthataunt who takes a thousand photos every time I see them. Even Emerson joins in to look at the photos and give them a nod.

“It’s the best, though, being the aunt or uncle, don’t you think? Then you can just get them all riled up and call it a night. ‘Right-o, it’s been swell, I’m off to my clean, silent apartment!’” Thomas makes the perfect symbol with both hands. He’s funny, and I’m pretty sure he’s giving me sexy eyes.

“Totally. Get to squeeze the cuties and then go back to the single life.” I realize Flirt Mode has been engaged.

“Right, next stop,” Emerson commands suddenly. We’ve finished our samples and a basket of fries, I realize.

“Emerson, the cruise director,” I say up to him, surprised he’s engaging but also not surprised that he’s again taking charge. “I don’t hate it!”

I don’t. There’s a comfort there, like I can let go because he has my back and wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Although, I realize sadly, he probably sees himself as the chaperone and me as his little charge. As a “kid,” like he said about Chase the other night.

Irritated, at the next bar, after our new set of samples arrive, I work harder to ignore Emerson completely and to keep a handle on myself. I eat first, drink second, and find easy, hilarious conversation about having siblings. The twins confirm that they do have weird ESP, and I explain how close my sisters and I are, even though we’re all so different.

“Emerson, you must know a bit about it. Your younger brothers are twins, yeah? Year behind us, I think they were? Maybe two?”

I turn to Mr. Freeze in shock. He nods. “They describe it as you do.”

“Twin brothers, huh? Man, you’re just a wealth of information. I bet you have nieces and nephews too?”

“A niece,” he admits casually, as if we weren’t all sharing with each other just an hour ago, gushing and bonding, while he stayed aloof. What the hell is wrong with him? It feels like a betrayal somehow, like he stood there and lied.

Because God forbid he get closer to us, to me, to being friends.

We head to the next spot, and I’m fully pissed inside my head. Tim asks Emerson some financial question about the stock market, which prompts me to turn my body away from their conversation and toward Hot Thomas.

“So, what about you? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Engaged? Married with no ring? Not everyone wears a ring, you know. My brother-in-law Adam doesn’t wear his because he works in construction, so I get it.” Oh boy. Flirt Mode doubles as Speed Talk Mode, apparently. I decide to suck down the sample in front of me to shut myself up.

“None of the above.” He gives me a slow grin as he says it. He doesn’t clarify the girlfriend part, but with how many times he’s glanced at my chest, I wasn’t ever really unsure.

“Same.” I try to stay casual. “And do you guys live in London?”

“Tim’s in Richmond, but I do—not far from here, actually.” He juts his chin toward the pub windows. My insides jump up and down. Not that I want to go home with him, just that he clearly is open to the idea, by the way he said it. I reach down to my beer and see it’s been replaced with water. I am thoroughly annoyed with my babysitter, even if it’s not a bad call, since I already feel a bit loopy.

I enjoy going out and getting buzzed, but I don’t get drunk often. My mouth gets me into enough trouble when it’s fully sober. And as I’ve learned recently, my judgment is impaired all on its own, no assistance required. Still, I’m itching to flip my chaperone the metaphorical bird.

“Is pool called pool here, or is it billiards?” I ask, eyeing the table by the back wall.

“Just pool. D’you play?”

“I do.Fancy a game, ole chap?” I say in my terrible accent, gaining me a bright, full laugh from Thomas as he agrees and turns to lead the way. I feel a thrill as we reach the table. Not only am I a good player, thanks to Skye and her ex-boyfriend who had a table in his douchey dudebro apartment, but I know I’m about to put on a full bend-down, bend-over lady show.Grab your popcorn, boys!After Thomas sets up the table, he hands me a pole, holding his grip for a second.

“Need any pointers?” he asks.