The Cad and the Co-Ed
Page 12

“I thought we’d see each other more.”
I sputtered on my disbelief. “What are you talking about? I’ve seen you every Sunday for the last three weeks.”
“Exactly. Once a week.”
“You know you’re welcome over any time.”
She made a face. “No, thank you. It’s like you and Patrick are your own little club. You two are inseparable, and I always feel like the third wheel. You should come out with me more often.”
“Josey . . .” I shook my head, finishing my tea. “What do you expect? Again, I have a child. I can’t just meet up with you whenever I please.”
“But you’re completely different,” she protested. “It’s like some alien has invaded your body.”
I gritted my teeth and pulled my bag to my shoulder. “Sorry, I have to get back.”
“Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” I lied, standing. “I just have to go.”
She stood too, reaching for me and pulling me into a hug. “I just mean, you’re so serious.” She leaned away, holding my shoulders and my gaze. “You used to want to have fun, we used to go clubbing all the time. You used to be fun.”
I shrugged, moving out of her grip. “I still have fun. It’s just a different kind of fun.”
“Going to the park and watching your kid play on the playground is fun?”
I turned and called over my shoulder, “Yes. It is.”
“Liar,” she called back.
I ignored her, weaving through the tables, because she was wrong. It was fun. Being Patrick’s mam was awesome and fun. I loved being a parent. I loved the certainty it gave me, the heady sense of responsibility and purpose. Being a mother was real and important. And I loved Patrick, with my whole heart. He came first, always.
I wouldn’t trade a day at the park with my kid for a lifetime of Josey’s kind of fun. Not in a million years.
Chapter Four
THEBryanLeech: There’s nothing better in life than a cup of peppermint tea, a comfortable pair of PJs and a good book.
RonanFitz to THEBryanLeech: You got hacked by your grandad again. Just FYI.
*Bryan*
I was going to murder my neighbors.
I’d just gotten out of the shower, put on my pajamas and slippers, brewed a cup of tea, and settled in to read the next few chapters of The Complete Guide to the Birdlife of Britain and Europe, when the music started.
No.
Not music.
Noise.
The people who lived in the apartment at the end of the hall were having a party. As we’ve already established, I hated parties. Especially when they were interrupting the nice, calm, relaxing, quiet night I had planned.
I tried to concentrate on reading but the reverberations of the bass and volume of the noise grew consistently louder, and I decided I’d had enough. I grunted, slammed my book down on the coffee table, and strode for the door. When I took a peek in Will’s bedroom I saw he had his earphones in. He had the right idea.
Still, I was in too much of a grump to let it lie. I needed those dipshits at the end of the hall to know that blaring music on a Sunday night—or any night—wasn’t going to fly with me.
I stomped out of the apartment and only realized I was still holding my half finished mug of tea when I raised my hand to slam on the door. Nobody answered. It took several more bangs before someone finally opened it. A pasty white man wearing a beanie and an Abercrombie and Fitch T-shirt stood in the entryway, a stylish Asian woman with him. Over their heads I could see at least fifteen to twenty people partying inside.
“Yeah?” the man asked, his eyes moving over me in a judgmental fashion. I couldn’t give two fucks what he thought. All I wanted was for them to quit interrupting my evening.
“You need to turn the music down,” I said in a measured, albeit aggressive, voice.
The man scoffed. “It’s only half past nine.”
“I’m aware of what time it is.”
“It’s my girlfriend’s birthday,” he said, throwing his arm around the woman’s shoulders. “And we’re not turning the music down. Like I said, it’s early. We’ll turn it down later.”
He made a move to close the door in my face but my arm shot out to hold it open. I took a step closer until I was glaring down at him from my admittedly impressive height. Less impressive, I was also glaring at him through my reading spectacles and still holding my tea.
“Turn it down or I’ll go in there and throw your motherfucking stereo system out the window.”
The woman rolled her eyes in a way I found obnoxious. “It’s an iPod dock, grandad. Jeez, get with the times.”
I shot her an uncompromising look. She was right about me being out of touch, but she was wrong if she thought I gave a shit. I was who I was, and I made no apologies. PJs, housecoat, fur-lined slippers, and all. It was funny to think that just a few short years ago I’d been the one blaring the music and giving the neighbors shit when they complained.
Perhaps this was karma.
Karma is a wanker.
“I don’t care what you’re playing your trashy music on. I will throw whatever the hell it is out the window and then you’ll have nothing for your noise pollution. Now, can you turn it the fuck down so I can get back to the quiet night I was enjoying before you so rudely interrupted it?”
“Oh man, this is priceless,” came a familiar voice, and I let out an irritable grunt. Why did I think it was a good idea to recommend Sean Cassidy move into my apartment building again? Not just that, but the same floor? He’d taken up residence two weeks ago, after the tenancy agreement ended at his old place.