4. a scoundrel, indeed
CHAPTER 4
A SCOUNDREL, INDEED
LINCOLN
It’s a Thursday afternoon when a goddess walks into the pub.
I’ve seen my fair share of beautiful women. It’s impossible to find a woman who isn’t beautiful, in my opinion. They’re each spectacular in their own way.
But this woman…
This woman is phenomenal.
I knew the moment I met her that Ivy was special. Call it attraction or call it intuition; I’m not bothered. Something about her drew me in, and I’m not in the habit of denying my curiosity.
That she clearly doesn’t immediately fall at my feet only makes the chase sweeter.
But it’s best we begin with some context.
* * *
No matter how many times I return stateside, the sun is a welcome surprise. Rain is predictable. London rain, especially. Dependable, one might say. And if one was my brother, one definitely has. Reed cares about that sort of thing.
Reliability, I mean. Not the rain.
Although probably that too.
Dad’s always said we’re two sides of the same coin, approaching problems from opposite directions. Reed is regimented; I’m impulsive. Darcy, as the youngest and obviously the most perfect in our father’s eyes, has thus far escaped clichéd metaphor.
“There he is,” Manny calls out as I step through the painted double oak doors, his beaming smile greeting my own. If sun rays could take human form, they’d look like my cousin.
When he’s finished washing out a cocktail shaker, he slaps his hand in mine, pulling me halfway across the counter into a hug. He’s shaved his head and has let his goatee grow out. We’re the same age, but he still manages to make thirty-three look like twenty-one, especially in the Nightwing T-shirt he’s got on. Unlike my lily-white arse, Manny’s blessed with his mum’s brown skin and good humor, which makes him a triple threat.
I take my first full breath in twenty-four hours. Christ, I’ve missed the hell out of him. A year between visits is too long.
“How was the flight?” he asks. “I’m assuming you haven’t unpacked yet, because you look like shit.”
I flip him off, taking the second to last stool at the bar. It’s worn, with a little wiggle that lets me rock when I position it right. “Thanks, mate. Your compliments always warm my heart.”
Manny chuckles as he pours me a pint (a proper ale, not some pissy lager). I won’t insult him by pretending he’ll charge me for it. “Can’t believe I finally convinced you to follow me here. Your dad owes me twenty quid.”
“Well, I know how much you can’t live without me,” I joke. “Someone has to keep you honest.”
“Fuck off,” he laughs. He’s practically glowing. I already knew he was thriving since making the move here, but seeing it in person is always a joy. “It’s good to see you, man.”
“You too.” I raise my glass, and fuck, it’s good. Jet lag has been kicking my arse since I landed six hours ago, and I haven’t eaten since the dry sandwich I had on the plane, but sleep and food can wait. I’ve needed this.
Manny sets both hands on the wood and brass counter, one of the signature touches of the Scoundrel. I already know what’s coming, but I’m going to put it off for as long as possible.
“You called Reed yet?”
Or not. “No.”
He just shakes his head like he expected that answer, and I’m briefly saved any follow-ups when a customer steps up and orders two glasses of wine.
It gives me a chance to take a fresh look at the place.
Along the walls, green glass sconces cast a golden glow over the room, warming the deep forest walls and mismatched leather stools. The mission was to bring home here, and we damn well made sure to keep it on the right side of nostalgia without dipping into parody.
There are places where the paint extends too far, or a panel was cut an eighth too short, but sitting here, I can feel the care seeping in from the floor and extending to the ceiling. With the reclaimed wood trim and back bar, it’s every bit a right proper pub.
“I see you haven’t run this place into the ground yet,” I say, when Manny makes his way back.
He wears his pride out in the open, as he absolutely should.
I’m proud of him. He’s never been one to rest on his laurels, and it makes me want to be better. Disciplined.
Just as my brother wanted.
“It’s gone better than I could have hoped,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “The whole building’s embraced it.”
Establishing a local had been a priority from day one. It’s a relief to know it worked.
“You working today?” he asks.
“Just a bit,” I say, attempting to wrangle my hair into order. It’s grown longer than I usually let it. “I have to publish this week’s audio, edit a few others, and set up the studio.” It won’t take long. Soundproofing the closet only requires a dozen panels, and I can run the mic through my laptop until I have the time to rig up something more permanent.
If I even need it. The permanent state of this move isn’t guaranteed yet. “Then I’ll sleep, I promise.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go running back to London on some post-nut epiphany. I only just got you here.”
Manny is one of the few people who know I record audio erotica and the only member of my family I’ve trusted with the truth.
Ask them, and I’m lazy, irresponsible, and more likely to follow a skirt than a profit-and-loss statement. That’s not who I am anymore, but I’d rather let them believe the lie than try to turn me into someone I’m not.
I’m not ashamed, but no amount of explaining that it’s a creative exercise I enjoy will erase the sexual aspect if they don’t respect the work.
Or if they don’t respect me.
I slip my hand into my pocket and pull out the proverbial stone that’s been weighing me down for the last week. It’s probably not too late to change my mind, but then what was the point of getting on a plane in the first place?
This is what I wanted.
“What’s that, then?” Manny asks, and I push the invite over to him. “Ah,” he says, pushing it back to me. “You ready to see him?”
“It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” Mending fences is what brought me here, but this particular fence might want to stay broken. “Turns out Darce already put my name down. With a plus one. It appears her not so subtle hints that I need a girlfriend haven’t been enough.”
“Can you blame her? You’ve been avoiding anything serious for years.” A customer calls out for a refill, and Manny nods, reaching for a fresh glass but keeping close. “Am I pulling my tux out, then?”
“I care about you too much to make you socialize with those toffs.”
“I appreciate that.” He steps away to close out the order, saying something that has them laughing as he hands back their credit card.
After I crashed my life into a veritable ditch, Manny let me bunk on his couch. He’s never once let me lower the bar for myself, always holding me to my word.
He’s my best mate, and it’s really fucking good to see him again.
“Look,” Manny says when he returns. “I know you want the whole deal, but a for now works while you wait, yeah?”
“I’m done with all that,” I fire back. It’s a new remix of an old song. He knows he can’t change my mind about this. Why bother? I’m not interested in a sycophant hanging off my arm for a night. “I got enough of that in my twenties, and back then, I actually enjoyed it. Not anymore.”
Now I want forever. A leg thrown over mine under the covers, a heartbeat to answer my own. Someone to spoil for the rest of my life, who won’t judge me for the work I do.
“Hey, I hear you, but if you’re going to go to that thing, you shouldn’t do it alone. I’m serious, mate. Say the word, and I’m there.” He would be too. Manny’s good like that.
Silently, I stare down my decision, my brother’s name in bold against the paper. I’ve already crossed an ocean. One more bridge shouldn’t feel this impossible.
“I see you’ve dressed up for me,” Manny says, and in my periphery, a pair of gray joggers hops up on a seat farther down the bar. “Your usual?”
The old leather stool scrapes against the floor as the person pulls themself closer to the bar. Funny how much that sound reminds me of home. “Thanks. And keep them coming. Maybe if I get drunk enough, I’ll forget my life is falling apart.”
Then I see her.
Well, if she isn’t a sight for these aching, greedy eyes.
“Hello, darling.”