9. Drew
Chapter Nine
DREW
Being a gentleman is for wankers. What am I thinking leaving that delicious woman in her hotel room all alone? My body’s still on fire after having those beautiful, willowy arms wrapped around me. Damn, I want her so badly.
I fasten the buttons on my crisp white shirt, slip in a pair of cufflinks, and slide on a black coat. I’m definitely not a suit guy. I’d much rather be naked, draped in Kate for the rest of the night. But I should support my brother, Mick. He may be the golden child, but he’s always been golden to me.
Feeling more like myself for the moment, Black Jack and I whiz down Northumberland toward Hippodrome Casino. It’s not hard to miss with all the brightly lit gold and blue lights. I squeeze the bike between two parked cars and stroll into the house of games. Peering around, I look for the lads. There are only two places they can be: the bar or the blackjack tables.
I can use a drink, so I turn the corner and head up the stairs to the bar overlooking the casino floor. My oldest friend, Collin, sits towards the middle, leaning against the steel bar top.
“Aye, mate,” I say, sliding onto the barstool beside him.
“Dreeew. I was wondering when I’d see your mug around here.” Collin shoves my shoulder, downs his short glass of whiskey, and then holds up the empty glass. “You want?”
“Yeah.”
He nods to the bartender with an arrogant smirk. “Two more of these.”
Collin’s a kid from the wrong side of the tracks, as they say. We met during a football match when we were thirteen. He made it his mission to annihilate me that day on the field, and he succeeded, earning my respect. Our friendly competition turned into an actual friendship.
That summer, I begged my parents to stay in London while they went on holiday to some exotic location. I spent a lot of time at Collin’s house and became an honorary member of his family after I complimented his mum on making the best Welsh rarebit in all of England.
Their life was modest compared to mine, but that was what I liked about them. It wasn’t about high expectations and what other people thought. They just loved each other. It was the first time in my life that I actually felt like Just Drew.
I told Collin as much, but he would always shove me off and call me mad. Collin desired the kind of opulence that was at my fingertips every second of the day. He much preferred to spend time with my family. I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to connect with my dad. It wasn’t until Collin went to work for him at Bonnaire Capital that I realized how similar the two really are.
I glance over the rail, looking out for the top of my brother’s toffee-colored, wavy-haired head. “You seen Mick?”
“He’s at the blackjack table with Kent,” he says, referring to my younger brother.
“Why aren’t you playing cards? Not in the gambling mood?” I ask.
Collin sneers, shuffling the ice at the bottom of his glass. “Just taking a liquor break. I gamble all day long.” He’s in the venture capital department. Every day, he has to make decisions that will either win big or lose. And Collin hates to lose, which is probably why he’s sitting here.
I take a long sip, feeling the burn of the husky liquid.
Collin knits his brow. “What’s going on with you? Why’s your face like that?”
“Like what?”
“All puckered like you’re contemplating the world’s problems,” he says.
“Don’t say pucker.”
“Puck-ER!” he yells in my apparently puckered face.
I roll my eyes and take another gulp. “It’s nothing.”
“Sure it is. But don’t worry, I have a feeling our night’s about to get a lot better.” He nods his chin behind me. Two gorgeous women just sat down at the end of the bar. One sends a wink, and the other a glossy-lipped smile.
“Two of us and two of them,” Collin mutters in a low tone. We could land those lovely ladies in our sleep. It all started back when we hardly had a few hairs on our chins, and we spent our entire youth perfecting our strategy. Back at university, our mates called us the cock-block duo because if we were around, no other guy stood a chance. Yes, Collin and I are unstoppable. Or, should I say, were ?
Last year, Collin became a husband after an unplanned pregnancy. He wasn’t ready to settle down, but my dad convinced him it would be better for him in the long run, so he complied. Collin never confessed anything, but I suspect he’s been no angel. Believe it or not, it’s not behavior I prefer to encourage. Besides, it’s more for me. Not that I’m in the mood for any woman but Kate.
“How’s Celine?” I ask, referring to his wife.
He scoffs. “Why’d you have to go and bring her up? I’m just trying to have a little harmless fun.” I’m not sure about his definition of harmless, but that’s Collin. He always wants more, more, more. He’s never satisfied with anything he has. He’s the same with money. No matter how rich he gets, he goes after more. More cars, more houses, more designer suits. It’s like he has this gigantic hole he’ll never fill.
“You’re the one who chose to get married,” I say.
“It didn’t feel much like a choice.” Collin looks away from the two women, and they pick up their drinks and walk away.
“You know, you can say no to Dean,” I say, referring to my father. “I do it all the time.” I take a sip, then feel a hand on my suit-clad shoulder.
“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up.” Kent’s voice resounds from behind me.
“Bro,” I say, raising my glass and taking in his slick, dark hair and blue eyes—save for the spec of brown in one.
“I’m not used to seeing you in a suit. You look sharp,” Kent says.
On the other hand, I hardly ever see him in anything but a three-piece since he started working for Bonnaire Capital as a venture capitalist with Collin. It’s a good fit since he was born for the business. The firm’s bottom line has soared since he started working there.
My brother’s got great instincts. We all do, really. But he easily knows the difference between a good idea and one that will make millions. That’s why he’s being groomed to be our father’s successor, a fact that Collin hates. I, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier for him. And not just because it means I’m off the hook.
“Why thank you,” I say, refining my tone. The perfect gentleman fa?ade continues. And speaking of the perfect gentleman, our cousin, Dash, walks in, leading with a stiff chin and a clean cut, faded around his ears.
“Dash,” I say, greeting him with a handshake.
He smiles and gives me a once-over. “Where is your tie?”
“Oh, c’mon. You know I take after your dad. Can’t button me up.”
My cousin doesn’t look amused. He’s also someone who would have loved to trade places with me. Dash is the son of my dad’s younger brother, Grant. My Uncle Grant is what you would call a free spirit. Though, my dad referred to him as an embarrassment.
After watching Easy Rider in the ‘70s, Uncle Grant was much more interested in American counterculture than he was in living up to the Bonnaire name. He met and married Dash’s mum because they were in love . A love that didn’t last longer than a few years. So he celebrated his divorce by taking off for the U.S., getting a motorbike, and enjoying the highlife in Los Angeles.
Dash is much more reserved like his Uncle Dean. He also works in the family business. Our whole lives, we’ve joked that we must’ve been switched at birth because we are so much more like our uncles. But the theory is always quashed because Dash is bi-racial, whereas I am not. And there is no way my father would engage in such a scandal as having an affair with his brother’s wife. Dad has a high regard for the institution of marriage.
“Mick’s on a winning streak at the blackjack table. Why don’t you go congratulate him?” Dash asks.
I suck down what’s left of my whiskey. “On his winnings?”
“No, his wedding, you prat,” he says with a pinched expression. I am a prat compared to Mick.
Pushing my empty glass aside, I give the boys a nod. “Right. That’s why we’re here.”
Dash tilts his head. “Why do you always look so down in the mouth whenever we mention Mick’s marriage? Have you got a secret thing for Davina? Regret passing on her at uni?”
I pass him a sideways glance. Being accused of having feelings for my brother’s fiancée is a first. It’s true. She did initially pursue me but there was something about her that didn’t quite do it for me.
One night, a few years back, Mick and I ran into her at a club, and I still had no interest. But she was interested in Mick. And since he put a ring on her finger, he’s obviously interested in her. “No. I don’t care that he’s marrying her. I just don’t understand why everyone’s getting married. First Collin, now Mick. Who’s next? Kent?”
Collin, Kent, Dash, and I share a quiet glance, considering the idea. Then we all bust out a laugh. Kent laughs so hard that a tear puddles at the corner of his eye. “Can you imagine? Me married?” Kent and I have that in common. Just another reason we’ve disappointed our father.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll go find the groom.” I walk out along the cabernet-colored carpet, through the smoky casino, and find Mick scrutinizing his hand of cards behind a stack of chips as tall as Big Ben.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” I say, pulling a wad of cash from my pocket and slapping down five hundred quid.
He beams at me when I take the seat next to him. “Drew, glad you could make it. I think you’re going to like this table.” His wavy hair is pushed over to the side in a footballer undercut that Davina convinced him to get.
“I heard as much.” I pile a few chips for the first hand. “Enjoying your stag so far?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve quadrupled my money in the last hour. It’s been brilliant.” By the look on the dealer’s face, he’s not having nearly as much fun as Mick.
I often wonder if Mick was born under a lucky star. Good fortune always surrounds him. “You’re one lucky bloke.”
“It’s not about luck. It’s about strategy. Besides, Bonnaire’s never lose.” Sure we do. I lost the chance to be in bed with a gorgeous American woman tonight.
“I’m not sure marriage is winning,” I mutter. And while I believe that, I know a part of me wants Mick to be single forever. To have one thing about his existence that isn’t perfect because then being the black sheep won’t seem as isolating.
Mick shoots me a look. “Let me tell you something. You can’t see it now, but one day, you’re going to meet the right girl, and this whole love-is-for-shit act will go right out the window. Trust me.”
No. I don’t think so. Lust, yes. Love affair, yes. But love, actual love, isn’t in the cards for me. I pat his shoulder and chuckle. “Spoken like a betrothed man.”
We return our focus to our hands. Mine is shit, so I fold. Mick lays down his cards. His perfect cards.
Blackjack.