Three
Joshua
While Dexter was at the bar, I took a deep breath as I mentally flipped through my day so far. First Hartford had arrived, which had been . . . unsettling. Then Eric’s news at lunch had the potential to devastate my business and the hundreds of employees who depended on me. It was only Tuesday. What else did this week from hell have in store?
I wasn’t sure a pint and a chat with my mates was going to make me feel any better. But it couldn’t make me feel worse.
“You seem deep in thought.” Dexter, one of my best friends, set a drink down in front of me and took a seat. “Did you suggest a drink because you want to talk about your feelings?”
“How did you guess?” I grinned, trying to act as if I didn’t feel the pressure from Eric’s announcement. I might not want to talk about it, but I didn’t want to go home and mope either. It was unusual of me to suggest an impromptu drink to our group of friends on a Tuesday. Normally, Tuesdays meant working until I met Kelly for a drink before going back to hers. Or to a hotel. I didn’t like people in my space, so my flat was kind of off-limits to women. Which was one of the reasons I’d taken the flat next door for Hartford. I had an extra bedroom in my place, but Hartford was pretty much a stranger to me.
Hartford.
“You pick up that girl from the airport today?” he asked, almost reading my thoughts.
“Yup.” I’d complained to the guys at our drinks last week that I was getting a new neighbor. But that news had paled in comparison to what I’d heard at lunch.
“Is she the reason for this . . . mood you’re in?”
I wasn’t in a bad mood. I was just tense, which wasn’t my normal M.O. Not only was I facing my business being upended, I couldn’t shake the feeling of disquiet that had settled with Hartford’s arrival. Normally I’d go home and have a soak in the bath. But with Hartford next door, what I’d normally do didn’t seem so appealing. I’d expected to give some vaguely familiar kid a lift back into town, give her a key to the residence next door and then get on with my day. But when she appeared . . . there she was. Unexpected.
Despite the haziness of my memories, Hartford was instantly recognizable. She gave off a feeling of warmth and familiarity that should have been comforting. And it was. And it wasn’t.
“I’m not in any kind of mood.”
“Has Miss Tuesday Night dumped you?”
I wasn’t sure what irritated me the most about Dexter and the rest of my circle calling Kelly “Miss Tuesday Night.” Maybe it was the way it made her sound like a chore, or the way it made me sound like a slave to routine. Sex was never a chore and I wasn’t anyone or anything’s slave. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh that’s right, she can’t have dumped you. Because first you would have had to be in an actual relationship.” Since Dexter had gotten together with Hollie, he’d become one of those men who thought everyone was better off with a serious girlfriend. I’d been down that route and didn’t plan to travel it again.
“In case you’ve forgotten, I got down on one knee way before you did.”
He didn’t even try to hide his wince. “I know, mate.”
Tristan interrupted the two of us and took his waiting pint without even saying hello. After a long sip, he sat on the small stool between us.
“Thirsty?” Dexter asked.
“Only for attention.” I smirked at my own joke and Tristan rolled his eyes.
“Joshua was just telling us about Hartford,” Dexter said.
“No, actually, I wasn’t. I didn’t suggest a drink so we could discuss women. You should know me better than that.” I wanted to be surrounded by people in my corner. People I could count on to be cheering for me.
“I thought Miss Tuesday Night was named Kelly,” Tristan said. “Did she break up with you?”
“You’re correct that I usually see Kelly on Tuesdays. And no, we didn’t break up. We’re not in a relationship that can be broken up from.” Kelly and I were strictly no strings. There wasn’t any expectation of anything more from either side. That was how we both liked it.
“Okay then, Mr. Pouty. Did Kelly tell you she didn’t want to have sex with you on Tuesday nights?”
“No. She’s just busy tonight.” It was a lie. I’d been the one to cancel our plans. I just wasn’t in the right frame of mind for shagging.
“So, who’s Hartford?” Tristan asked.
How were we still on this topic?
“Joshua, who’s Hartford?” Tristan was relentless.
“The daughter of a friend of my mother’s.” That underplayed our connection. My mum and Marion—Hartford’s mother—spoke to each other at least five times a day. I could guarantee my mother’s best friend knew how often my dad took a shit. And I’d grown up with the Kent kids. Or more specifically, I’d been best friends with Patrick and developed my flirting skills on Thea. And then there was Hartford.