Page 75 of Single Daddy Scot
Chapter Twenty-Eight
MAC
I’m thoroughly pissed off by the time I meet Keir, not only because of what Ella’s stepmother had to say, but also because Keir had moved our venue. Apparently, he’s got tickets to some flash show or other, which means a suit instead of jeans, and music instead of the backdrop consisting of thethwackof pool balls and sports news playing on a big screen.
The bar has a sort ofCocktails and Dreamsvibe as I pull open the door. In other words, it’s all neon signage and eighties tacky. My mood worsens when, arriving at the poncy retro wine bar we’d agreed on, I pull out the chair next to Keir and see who’s sitting right in front of me.
‘Not fucking cool,’ I say, my eyes sliding to my friend, then return my glare to my former friend.
‘Come on, man,’ Will says, lifting his hands. ‘How was I supposed to know you were interested in her?’
‘I called you,’ I grate out, pointing a finger at him. ‘Called your phone and in no uncertain fucking terms told you she was off limits.’
‘After the fact, Mac. After the fact. Did you really expect me to call her five minutes before I was due to pick her up and cancel?’
‘Aye, I did,’ I all but shout.
Under the fair curtain of his hair, Will’s blue eyes flare. ‘I know I’m a bastard, but I’m not that big of a one.’
‘You’re a fucking Muppet.’
‘And you play your cards too close to your chest. I don’t have a crystal ball, man.’
‘Go near Ella again and you’ll be needin’ some kind of ball—crystal or prosthetic, ’cause I’ll be tearing your knackers off.’ My chest heaves, twisted with anger as I fold my arms across my chest.
‘Are we done with our domestic, lads?’ Keir asks, waving over the waitress in a tutu and neon pink leggings. And legwarmers.
‘Fuck you,’ Will and I return in unison.
While Keir quizzes the waitress on the kind of gin the bar stocks, I ignore Will. Childish, maybe, but it’s that or put my fist through his face.
‘Look, I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have been sniffing around her, but honestly? You never said you wanted to fuck her yourself.’ My head whips around to glare at him; he was doing all right up until this point. He’s not exactly redeeming himself but making the right tracks.
‘Ah,’ he says, sitting back in his chair. ‘It’s like that, is it? Well, that makes more sense, I suppose.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? And I’m warning ye’, tread carefully.’
‘Your reaction seemed a little over the top for someone trying to retain the purity of the girl who happens to look after his kid.’
I bite my tongue against further comment, even though his turn of phrase needles me, compounding what her bitch of a stepmother said. But for all my brain-based reasoning, I can’t help but reply.
‘She’s not a girl.’
‘No, she’s not,’ Will answers carefully. ‘She’s a whole lot of... lovely,’ he says, changing his phrasing in response to my stiffening spine. To my glare, tensed jaw, and general pissed off-ness.
‘Surely, you must’ve kissed and made up by now,’ Keir interjects as the waitress walks away. ‘I’ve ordered for us all, seeing as you were too busy cat fighting. Drinks are on you,’ he adds, directing this words to Will.
‘I didn’t do anything to pissyouoff,’ Will protests.
‘Debatable,’ returns Keir mildly. ‘You behave like a twat fifty percent of the time.’
‘With friends like you, who needs enemies,’ he grumbles
‘Enemies? Come on, William. Who else would keep your latest rejected and weeping conquest busy when they stalk you on social media to, say, the place we’re having dinner. Or a quiet pint. Or a game of rugby?’ He’s right. This has happened. Plenty. ‘Without us, who would you have to cover your escape?’
‘Aye, spot on,’ I say, joining in, my satisfaction growing in direct correlation to Will’s angry expression.
‘Fuck you very much, Keir.’
