5. James
Chapter 5
James
A s the last of the partygoers clear out, I rap my knuckles against the downstairs powder room door.
“I’m in here!” someone yells from the other side. From the slurry sound of it, it’s Bridget, April’s colleague, who’s been hovering around me like a bad bloody smell since I arrived.
Don’t get me wrong—she’s pretty. And daft. But right now, I don’t have the energy to give a fuck. I’m too focused on the woman standing in front of her sink with a distant look on her face, scrubbing a pile of dishes. Alone.
After her own fucking engagement party. No fiancé in sight.
I roll my eyes and head upstairs to use Lucas’s bathroom. I step through the door and stop short. Lucas is sitting at the end of his bed, tapping furiously at his phone screen.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt. You cool if I use your bathroom? Downstairs is occupied.”
He looks up at me, blank-faced. “Huh?”
“I asked if I could use your bathroom.”
He shrugs, not even looking at me. “Whatever.”
After handling things, I wash and dry my hands, then swing the door open to find him still glued to his phone.
“Is everything alright with you?” I ask.
He lowers the phone to his lap and groans in frustration. “Jesus, James. What is it? What do you want?”
Tosser.
“You seem distracted. I was just?—”
“Well, don’t. I’m fine. I’m just busy.”
“Seems like you’ve been busy all night.” I slip my hands into my pockets and rock back on my heels.
He scoffs. “Hardly.”
I frown. “You realise your fiancée is helping Mum and Dad clean up, right?”
He tosses his phone on the bed and twists towards me. “Leave it, would you? You should be more concerned about whether you’re going to end up with a shovel in your hand for the rest of your life.”
What. A. Prick.
His words land precisely where he intended, the jab cutting through me like a blade.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath, shaking my head as I make my way downstairs.
I step off the staircase to find Dad trailing Mum, a large bag in hand as she tosses used napkins and paper plates inside. April is still at the sink, working away at the dishes, while Gemma wraps up the leftover food on the coffee table, organising it into containers, and Anna sweeps the floors, blowing out candles as she goes.
The door to the powder room swings open and a very wobbly, very drunk Bridget stumbles out. She makes her way over to me, pushing her tits out as she moves her hips with more sway than is natural. Her eyes latch onto me like leeches.
Usually, I’m up for an easy lay. But no thanks. I’m into enthusiastic consent, which I highly doubt Bridget is capable of right now. And after seeing April tonight, I’m not sure anyone could compare.
Fuck, I don’t want to entertain that thought.
Bitterness rears its ugly head, planting deep in my gut and spreading its roots. Something about this doesn’t sit right. I suddenly feel this protectiveness, this urge to tell her she deserves more. Lucas has given her the cold shoulder all night, and as much as I don’t care about him, I’d be a dick not to notice how it affects her. It’s glaringly obvious. Her movements and facial expressions have seemed robotic. Unnatural.
The house looks amazing. The effort that’s gone into the food and decorations, which have made the night what it is, leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Because I don’t think Lucas appreciated any of it. Or her, for that matter.
I catch a whiff of Bridget’s sickeningly sweet perfume as she approaches.
“James, there you are. I was wondering if I could?—”
“No.”
“Oh, but I just thought?—”
“You thought wrong.” I can smell the alcohol wafting off her.
“But I just?—”
I whirl around to face her. She crosses one leg over the other, stumbling to stand upright.
I blow out a breath. “I’m not interested.”
She pulls her head back, eyes dazed.
Jesus Christ. “Do you have a way home?” I ask.
Her lips quirk to the side. “Why, is that an invitation?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows.
I rub my forehead. “No. It wasn’t. Do you need me to organise a cab?”
She pouts, her tone sulky. “No, it’s fine. I’ll sort it myself.”
I watch as she wobbles out the front door, gripping the railing for dear life as she descends the front steps. When I focus back on April, she’s scrubbing an oven dish with a scouring pad, rubbing with force as she worries her lip between her teeth. My legs spring into action before I even register that I’m moving. Sliding up to her, I place my hand over her forearm as she reaches for the next dish. Her skin is wet and sudsy from the water, and she pauses, tipping her head towards me.
“Let me help.”
“It’s fine, I’ve got this,” she says, blowing a stray hair that’s fallen across her face out of the way.
“Then I’ll dry,” I say, reaching for a tea towel.
“Thank you.”
We fall into a production line. She scrubs while I dry. “So, did you have fun tonight?”
She hesitates before answering, like she’s not sure whether to be truthful. “Yes.”
I don’t believe her.
I remain silent, unsure of how to respond.
“I saw you made quite the impression on Bridget,” she says.
I chuckle. “I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “Not sure, just don’t.”
She chews the inside of her cheek. “I think she was interested in you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She couldn’t stay away from you.”
“How do you know that?” I say, my lips tipping up at the corners. “Were you watching me, April?”
She blinks, floundering for words. “No, I just?—”
“I’m kidding,” I say, nudging her with my elbow. She offers me a soft smile and hands me another plate. We rarely have the chance to talk, just the two of us, so I’m not sure why she’s focusing on Bridget. I couldn’t care less about the woman.
“I’m not interested in her.”
She glances at me.
“Bridget—I’m not interested in Bridget,” I clarify.
“Why not? She’s gorgeous.”
Because I couldn’t take my eyes off you.
“I just don’t fancy her,” I say, struggling to find the right words.
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “She does have those supermodel legs that go on for miles.” Her hands slow over the dish.
I swallow, shaking my head no .
“Really?” she asks, releasing the dish to float in the sink. She plucks the tea towel off my shoulder to dry her hands, then turns to lean against the counter, tossing the towel back over my shoulder. Her smile is cheeky as she says, “What about any of my other friends? You could have any woman you want. You know that, right?”
I know she’s just being playful, that there’s no deeper meaning behind her words, but still, I hold her gaze. “I wouldn’t say that. Not any woman.”
Her smile falters, her brows pulling together slightly as her lips part. “Well, do you have a type?”
“Yes.”
“And what is it?”
I open my mouth to respond, but Lucas’s footsteps thunder down the stairs. He grabs the banister, swinging himself into the kitchen. “Sorry about that, love. I was just changing.” He nods at the tea towel over my shoulder. “Cheers for doing that.”
Lucas strides over, wrapping an arm around April’s waist and kissing the top of her head. Without waiting for a response, he dashes into the utility room, grabs something, and disappears upstairs without so much as a backwards glance at her.
I lower the plate in my hand, placing it carefully on the drying rack. April’s gaze drops to the floor, defeated.
I grind my teeth. I need to leave before I cross the line. Before I tell her she deserves more. Before I tell her he doesn’t appreciate her. Doesn’t see her, not really.
“You look really beautiful tonight, April.”
Before she can respond, I turn and step out into the frigid night air. I can’t risk looking into those sombre, bluebell eyes.
If I did, her sadness would undo me.