Chapter Eleven
RUSSELL ALMOST KNOCKED over his sixth beer in an attempt to grab Louis’s phone. “Do not call her, man. If you do, I swear to God, I will dropkick that iPhone straight into New Jersey.”
Louis dodged his friend’s hands. “I’m checking my email.” He stared down at his phone. Or phones. How did he get two phones? He closed one eye. Ah, there we go. Back to one. “Relax, will you?”
“You’re doing a lot of email checking for a Sunday night,” Russell said. “Also, you’re a shit liar, McNally. If she hasn’t called you by now, she’s not going to.”
“Ignore him,” Ben interjected loudly, setting another round of beers on the table and stumbling back a step. “Whatever he’s saying is wrong. This is the same guy who told us women who eat salad on first dates will eventually kill you in your sleep.”
Russell shrugged and sipped his fresh beer. “I stand by that.”
“Where are your statistics?” It took Ben three times to say statistics correctly. “You have none. Because it’s ramblings of a crazy person.”
“I don’t know, Ben.” Louis shoved his phone into his pocket, although he felt more like launching it across the bar. “His dress theory proved correct.”
“Dress theory?” Russell sat up straighter in his chair. “She broke out the dress on date number one?”
Louis dropped his head onto the table with a thud in an attempt to block out the image of Roxy’s figure wrapped in soft, flowery material. How it had felt in his hands. “Yup.”
“She’s evil,” Russell enunciated. “You need to run like a pack of the Real Housewives are chasing you.”
Ben and Louis exchanged a glance. “What have you been watching, bro?”
“I put it on in the background when I’m ironing.
Don’t try and change the subject.” Russell rolled his shoulders.
“A girl who wears the dress on date one either has a blood vendetta against your family that you’re not aware of.
” He ticked off his fingers. “Or she has more than one dress . I don’t even want to imagine what she’d have in store for date number two. ”
“I do.” Louis nodded vigorously. “I want to know.”
“No,” Russell insisted, slamming his beer down. “You don’t. Look at you, man. You didn’t even shave this morning. And what is that? A Hawaiian shirt?”
“It’s laundry day,” Louis mumbled. “Have I mentioned what a fucking windfall our friendship has been for me?”
“You’ll get around to it.”
Ben sent Russell a look of disgust before turning to Louis. “Listen, you can’t exactly blame the girl for taking off when your sisters showed up. I’ve met them. They’re not exactly the ideal welcoming committee.”
“Are you sure?” Louis hiccupped. “Lena set her T-shirt on fire with a Bic. That has to count for a ‘welcome to the family’ in some culture, right?”
Ben and Russell leaned forward slowly. “She did what?”
“It’s a long story.” No way in hell was he telling his best friends why said T-shirt had been set ablaze.
Not because what Roxy had done embarrassed him, just because he didn’t want them thinking about her naked.
Which made no sense, since they didn’t even know what she looked like, but he didn’t even want them imagining what she looked like, then picturing imaginary Roxy naked.
Okay, he appeared to be drunker than he thought.
Today had been shitty for two reasons. One, he’d woken up to his sisters snoring on the floor of his bedroom, instead of Roxy in bed next to him.
Two, his request to add more required pro bono time to his contract with Winston and Doubleday had been reeeee-jected.
On a Sunday. Via email. There was something just a little more insulting about your hopes being dashed when it was followed by the Sent from my iPhone sign-off message.
Where did that leave him? Did he keep the cush job his father had landed him, living up to a reputation he’d never wanted to fulfill?
If he didn’t have the pro bono work to keep him grounded, he’d be like everyone else at his office, chasing a paycheck, forgetting why they’d gotten into law in the first place.
He didn’t want to forget. Didn’t want to start blurring the lines until the job became all about winning and nothing else.
But what choice did he have? Jesus, his father would have a coronary if he knew Louis hadn’t given Doubleday a direct answer yet.
Louis could hear his father now. Who in their right mind would give up a job like this? Who, indeed.
Ben looked as if he wanted to press for the full story, but thankfully he didn’t. “I vote for calling her. It sounds like she might be traumatized.”
“No. No calls on my watch.”
Louis ignored Russell. “Traumatized? She walked out smiling.”
“Evil.”
Ben didn’t acknowledge Russell, either. “Hey, that’s a good thing. Not many girls come into contact with the Twin Terrors and live to tell the tale, let alone laugh about it.”
“Yeah. I know.” Something pulled in his chest. Dammit, he should call her.
Maybe she’d answer on the third ring and call him by his full name.
Hey, Louis McNally the Second . At this time of night, she might even be in bed, so he could picture her with damp hair and pajamas, snuggled up into a pillow as they spoke. Her voice would be all soft and sleepy.
Jesus. He was turning into a sap. Something needed to give.
He wanted to be able to pick up the phone and call Roxy whenever the hell he felt like it, knowing she’d be happy to hear from him.
This second-guessing bullshit was starting to get old.
Maybe he’d never pursued a girl like this before, but he thought he’d done a decent job of it so far.
Apart from their make-out session being interrupted by a life-threatening situation, that is.
Ben was right, though. Roxy might have been a little thrown off by his sisters’ untimely arrival, but she’d looked more amused than anything.
She rolled with the punches. God, he liked that about her.
It was a skill he’d needed to acquire not only for his profession but also because his family brought drama wherever they went.
That’s where he and Roxy would have a problem.
He’d seen the wariness in her eyes when Lena had asked him to introduce her.
She hadn’t run out of his apartment because she’d been afraid of Lena and Celeste.
She’d been afraid of getting to know them. Something a girlfriend might do.
Roxy seemed determined to keep things light and casual between them.
Any other time, he would be counting his luck that a girl didn’t want a concise verbal commitment.
An assigned status, complete with promise ring and parental introduction.
A fucking weekend trip to Vermont they could brag to their friends about over brunch.
He and Roxy hadn’t known each other long, so he knew this irrational need for her to make promises wasn’t realistic.
It didn’t change the fact that he wanted to wrap her up in his arms and demand she agree to see him without this big, fat expiration date hovering over his head.
It was there, too. He could feel it every time they were together.
When Russell punched him in the shoulder, Louis realized he’d actually been staring at the ceiling. “What?”
“I draw the line at your unshaven tourist look. Talking to the ceiling is entering scary new territory.”
Ben tapped a cardboard coaster on the table. “Just call her. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Russell’s booming laugh turned heads. “Famous last words. I can’t believe you’re in charge of educating our youth.” He gave Louis a pointed look. “The worst that could happen? As soon as she knows you’re on the chase, she’ll have your balls in a vise.”
“Oh, it’s safe to say she knows I’m chasing her.”
“It’s never too late, man. You can turn this circus train around.” Russell pushed some empty pint glasses aside and leaned in. “It’s like you’re the lion and she’s a gazelle. Only right now, sorry, you’re kind of being the gazelle—”
“I’m too drunk for metaphors.”
“I’m never too drunk for metaphors.” Ben shook his head at Russell. “Just ridiculous ones.”
“All I’m saying is, give it a couple days.” Russell crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll thank me, my friend.”
Louis took a pull from his beer. “Did I mention she has two cute roommates?”
Without missing a beat, Russell tossed his phone onto the table. “Fuck it. Call her now.”
LOUIS HADN’T CALLED her.
Not that she’d necessarily expected a call.
Or even needed one. She’d just really, really thought he’d call.
Up until they’d arrived in Sister Hell on Saturday night, things had been going pretty well.
If they’d shown up to an empty apartment, she was pretty sure they’d have eaten diner pancakes together the next morning.
So. What the fuck? Should she have stayed and waited for one of his sisters to start asking questions?
No, thank you. She liked her eyeballs inside her head.
If he was mad at her for leaving, well, so be it.
She didn’t need his stupid, Prince Charming, perfect-date-planning ass.
Only she wanted to hear his voice. Kind of craved the sound of it.
In five minutes, she would leave her apartment and ride the subway to the audition of a lifetime.
Her palms were sweating, her outfit was all wrong, and somehow she knew Louis would say the exact right thing to calm her down.
How did she know that? No clue. A week ago, she would have been pep-talking herself, and she didn’t like this sudden reliance on him to feel confident.
Scratch that, she had confidence. She just needed the extra kind right now. A shitload of it.