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Scott actually gave a shit about his grades and tried to follow up after McGregor massacred his business plan. The good professor didn’t even let him get two words out before he held up a hand, his beady green eyes becoming slivers of disgust as he proclaimed loudly that the grade was final and not up for debate. Like that wasn’t enough rudeness to make most students tuck their tail between their legs and exit as quickly as possible, he twisted the knife by tossing out that Scott’s charm may work on the freshmen, but he saw right through him.
I’d been waiting near the door, fuming, ready to charge in and defend my friend, but he’d given the professor a glare that made the cocky man swallow his tongue. The scowl had soured Scott’s sunny disposition as he let out a dig of his own: “We’ll see if my charm works on the dean.”
I clapped Scott on the shoulder, putting aside the past and focusing on the now. He emerged from the elevator, but my smile wavered when I realized that I could count the number of times I’d seen the look he scalded me with on one hand—and the most recent instance of it was after my toast at the reception.
He stopped short of entering the main space, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his nostrils flaring like I was dressed in red and he was ready to gore me to death.
His dark eyes slashed across the room and cut me down to size. “Since when do you make visitors blow up your buzzer for fifteen minutes?”
I crossed my arms against my chest and took a sobering breath before I answered. I reminded myself that he had every right to be angry. To march in and and hurl words at me like daggers after what I’d done. But when you’re used to most people kissing your ass or being afraid of you, option C definitely ruffled a feather or two. “Since two of those camera clutching fools posed as delivery people so they could get an exclusive with the jerk of the year.”
His eyes widened. “No shit.” He covered the moment of something other than anger quickly with a shrug. He turned his back to me, striding toward the main room. “Just the jerk of the year, huh?”
I smirked and followed him, relaxing at him making light of this mess. It was a joke that would have stung a little if it was delivered by anyone else.
If it was delivered by her...
I dusted my hands off on the front of my jeans and headed into the kitchen, pulling out a couple of glasses. “Can I get you a drink?”
I didn’t wait for him to answer before I retrieved the Scotch. Scott had two options in the seating department, the couch that was currently being occupied by laundry and my laptop, or my solo barstool at the counter. He chose the stool, hopping onto the seat with a sigh.
I plunked his glass in front of him and took a gulp of my own, wincing as it went down. Scott didn’t touch his, taking a hesitant sniff like he could already smell the reek of alcohol oozing from my pores.
“It’s barely noon, Jason.”
“What’s that saying?” I countered, almost holding up my glass to toast then deciding with my track record, I should just put it down.
“It’s 5:00 somewhere?” he offered warily, passing on his drink and leaning back in his chair. All he had to do was shake his head and this would be a familiar scene. Jason being Jason, while Scott was the voice of reason. The adult in the situation.
“I was thinking more along the lines of, I’m on vacation,” I said, pointedly not masking the bite behind my words. “A vacation that you had a hand in, so thanks!” I decided to hold my glass up after all. Scott answered me by doing nothing at all, which made me feel even worse.
“What would you have had me do, Jason?” he asked quietly, his voice infuriatingly measured. Reminding me that he wasn’t the enemy. “The photos were disrupting business. And with all the projects we have in the works, the last thing we need is to have Cox Technologies anywhere near this mess.”
He was right, but I decided to take another swig, denying him the satisfaction of hearing me say the words. I exited the kitchen altogether, trying to ignore the answering silence that was filled with tension and regret and anger.
“I’m not trying to get you all liquored up so we can play nice. And I’m not oblivious to the mess I’ve made,” I added, before he could sneak in another friendly reminder. “Make yourself at home. I’d love to hear what’s behind this impromptu visit.”
I perched on the edge of the couch, still nursing my scotch, expecting him to say that I still owed him an apology.
“I’m here because I wanted to see how you were doing,” he said finally, swiveling toward the couch. Drinking in my glass before he veered to my face.
If he expected to see any truth there, after I’d perfected the art of the poker face, he was gonna be disappointed. “Me? I’m living the life. Haven’t you heard? I have a fiancé and a piece of ass on the side.”
Scott cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The life? Is that what this is?” He took in the space, cringing like I had condom wrappers, pizza boxes, and porn all over the place. “You should buy some furniture. Some artwork. Something to make this place look like someone actually lives here.”
“Maybe I could ask Denise for a tip or two.” It was a bad habit and rolled off my tongue before I could squash it.
The impact of it turned Scott to stone. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to talk about my wife.”
Apologies weren’t something that came to me easily, but I wasted no time giving him one. “I’m sorry, man. About everything.” I paused, realizing that I needed to do more than generalize , and even though liquor would give me a dose of courage, I put my glass aside and got serious. “My toast at your wedding-”
“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Scott cut in with a groan, slumping his shoulders, like the weight of all of this was gonna do him in.
“Let me finish,” I urged. “My feelings about your wife aside, I had no business disrespecting you both by being a dick and announcing to everyone that you two are expecting.” I scrubbed my jaw, the stubble that usually shadowed it officially on its way to full beard action. A shot of me in my current state would make the photographers giddy with glee. Proof that even an asshole can be brought to his knees.
I faced the music, not shying away from Scott’s skeptical glare. “You’ve always had my back, man. I didn’t have yours. I am truly sorry.”
I left it at that, almost swiping my glass, but stopped myself. I didn’t want to dull this. I didn’t want to walk through life half asleep anymore. No more jokes, no projecting, no-
