Before Jamaica Lane (On Dublin Street 3)

‘Do you want company?’ I offered, knowing that dealing with Fiona was often unpleasant for my friend.

She shook her head and gave me an apologetic smile. ‘You know how she feels about you.’

Indeed I did. When I first met Fiona she’d been ugly to me because she’d always had a thing for my dad and was jealous of my mom and resented me. She’d told me I looked like my mom, as though that was a bad thing. It was actually one of the nicest things she could ever have said to me.

‘Go on.’ I waved her off. ‘I’ll deal with the snacks.’

Sighing again, Jo headed out of the kitchen and I followed, carrying a plate of little sandwiches she’d made up.

‘I’m going to see if Mum’s okay,’ she called out to the guys as she passed the sitting room.

Cam almost bumped into me. He let me pass, calling out to Jo, ‘I’m coming with you.’

As I entered the sitting room, my eyes immediately went to Cole. Just as I expected, his handsome, boyish features were strained as he stared up at the ceiling. I hated seeing that look on his face. I worried what it meant, what was going on inside.

Cole never talked about it, but I couldn’t imagine it was any easier for him growing up with a mom like Fiona than it had been for Jo. Not easy either to grow up without a dad, and then to discover that your dad was an abusive ass**le. By all accounts Jo had been his mother, not Fiona. Still, their mom’s abuse must have left its mark, and just the thought of that mark scarring Cole made me feel sick to my stomach. He was the best kid ever. I couldn’t understand how anyone could hurt him.

Sensing my gaze, Cole looked over at me and I smiled gently.

He gave me a small smile back, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Sandwich?’ I asked, walking over to him with the plate. Before he could say anything I sat down next to him and thrust the plate under his nose.

Cole slowly accepted a sandwich.

I remained silent.

He looked up at me, as if he was waiting for me to say something.

Instead I gave him a slow, cheeky grin. Cole stared at me like I was a new species. Then he shook his head and burst into low laughter. His whole body relaxed and he bit into the sandwich.

I lifted my smiling eyes. They collided with Nate’s and the smile almost faltered at his expression. The look on his face was so tender I felt it knock the wind out of me. I felt that now familiar, pleasurable ache in my chest as he winked at me.

I didn’t think anyone could wink without it looking stupid or corny.

I was wrong.

Nate could.

Nate made winking panty-droppingly hot.

Oh, boy, better be careful, Soda Pop.

‘You don’t have to walk me home, Nate,’ I said as we hit Leith Walk.

After Jo had dealt with whatever was going on with her mom, she and Cam had returned to the flat and we’d switched the video game off to watch a comedy. Nate made a point of leaning down to kiss Jo’s forehead when he got up to go to the bathroom, and the tension between them melted away. The tattoo, however, was still on my mind because … well, I was just nosy like that. Mostly I was concerned about the reaction it had elicited in Nate. I got through the movie without bugging him about it, but when Peetie left we took that as our cue and announced we had to get going too.

Nate lived in Marchmont, a heavily student-populated area behind the Meadows – a large public park behind the University of Edinburgh. It was southwest of Jo and Cam’s apartment on London Road, whereas I was just west. It was a good forty-minute walk from my apartment to Nate’s.

‘It’s after midnight,’ he replied softly. ‘I’m not letting you walk home alone.’

‘I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.’

‘That might be true if you ever decided to come along to judo with me.’

Wrinkling my nose at the thought, I said, ‘I like watching it, but I’m not up for doing it.’

‘I hope that won’t be your attitude toward sex.’ He smirked cheekily at me. ‘Then again, voyeurism is hot.’

I punched him on the arm. ‘You’re so immature.’

‘I can’t help it if you don’t think through what you’re saying before you say it,’ he replied with an unapologetic shrug.

‘Dude, there was nothing sexual about what I said. You just have a way of making everything sound dirty.’

He grinned at me. ‘You, a grown woman of twenty-six years old, say “dude” and you call me immature?’

‘That’s beside the point,’ I replied haughtily, ignoring his laughter. And in ignoring his laughter I stupidly decided to ruin his mood. Clearing my throat, I nudged him with my shoulder. ‘So the uh … the, uh, tattoo?’

Nate was quiet as we strode across the wide road to Union Street. By the time we turned down Forth Street he still hadn’t said anything. I wasn’t going to push. It wasn’t my place to. But I was worried about his reaction to this tattoo and what it meant.

‘It’s a small stylized “A.” I have it tattooed at the top of my ribs, across my heart,’ he suddenly piped up.

‘ “A,” ’ I whispered, and I understood instantly. ‘For “Alana.” ’

Nate nodded, his eyes on me as if he was waiting for my reaction.

‘When did you get it?’

‘Just after she died.’ Those deep dark eyes of his studied my face more intently. ‘Did you ever think about getting a tattoo for your mum?’

The familiar pressure on my chest accompanied my answer. ‘I don’t need it.’