Page 85 of Handle Me

“I’m just saying—”

“Can we not talk about Lola?”

He put his drink back down on the bar before finally nodding. “Whatever.”

“Whatever,” I agreed. “Now, let’s get pissed.”

“Maybe we should order some food,” he suggested gently.

I raised an eyebrow. “Who put you up to this? Wilkes or my mother?”

“I’m just looking out for you.”

I gulped down the rest of my pint and slammed the empty glass on the counter. “In that case, get me another.”

Brex hesitated, and for a moment, I thought he was going to say something. He’d been doing that more and more lately: falling silent like he was about to unload on me. But in the end, he shrugged and lifted his hand. “Another pint for my mate, Joy?”

She beamed back at him.

“Have you guys picked out colors for the wedding?” I teased him.

“Shut it.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not in the market.”

Somehow, I suspected that had less to do with Joy being at least seventy and a certain gorgeous, if somewhat terrifying, Indian partner of his.

“Me neither,” I said, clinking my glass against his in a toast.

We were such liars.

By ten, I was pissed out of my mind. I cupped my half-full pint with both hands to keep myself from falling off the barstool. Brex had disappeared a few minutes ago. Maybe hours ago. Usually, I didn’t let it get that bad, but today had sent me into a spiral. Any minute, we would lose our last sponsor and my career would be over, my crew would be out of a job, and Wilkes would never stop looking disappointed.

I could almost picture his sad, concerned face.

I blinked, and it became clearer.

“Joy, another round,” I yelled in her general direction.

“Joy, ignore that,” Wilkes barked.

I swiveled to him in surprise. “You’re real.”

“Well-spotted.” He sighed and put his arm around me. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

“Brex is here,” I told him, waving off his help.

“I know. He called me.”

“Snitch,” I muttered, but I let Wilkes help me out of the bar. Brex was waiting by the Range Rover.

“We’ll get your bike tomorrow,” Brex told me as he opened the passenger door.

“Go get some rest,” Wilkes told me. “Try and make it through the day tomorrow, okay?”

I saluted him, earning another frustrated sigh. He shut the door, and I waited, watching as he and Brex spoke with their heads together outside the car.

“Just came in for a drink,” I muttered. “What a crock.”

They were humoring me, but I wasn’t stupid. And tomorrow I was going to tell them.