Jack

Starkey’s giving me that wounded-animal look, all reproach and resentment. For the first time I can recall, he looks every one of his fifty-odd years. I shouldn’t have hit him.

“It was my fault,” he says again. It comes out a little slurred. “I thought—I thought....”

I whirl on him, ready to punch his lights out. “What? What were you thinking?”

He wipes at his split lip. “That I’d rather avoid an uncomfortable trip to The Hague, followed by an excruciating—and very public—trial. For something I had nothing to do with.”

“You still think I did?”

Starkey deflates. I can tell he wants to sit down, but fuck that. I’m still furious. He opens his mouth and closes it again. Like a fish.

“Well?”

He lifts one shoulder in a pissy little shrug. “Maybe if you’d seen fit to confide in me before it was too goddamn late, I’d have an answer for that. Am I dismissed?”

I wave him off. “Fine. Go. Tidy yourself up. And if you raise your hand to her again—”

“My teeth. Your floor. Got it.”

That wasn’t what I said. “I meant you’d be looking for a job.”

“Sir.”

I turn my back so I don’t have to watch Starkey’s defeated exit. He didn’t ask for this either. Though I had no idea he was still so angry. It’s not like he ended up on food stamps.

I flex my hand. My knuckles are already starting to swell. Screw Starkey, and the high horse he rode in on. I made the best of a bad situation. Just like I’m doing now. Like Stella’s doing at the salon with Mary. Getting highlights. I almost chuckle at the thought. She’s not vain about much, but I’ve seen her at the mirror, perfecting those long black curls. Hope they don’t fuck up her hair.

I should go pick her up later. Starkey might be up for it, but sending him doesn’t seem fair. On either of them.

In the meantime...damage control. Magnus might be a paranoid bastard, but Erik can be reasoned with. And Magnus listens to him. Sometimes. Sort of.

I skip the limo and drive myself to the country club. Erik’s waiting on the terrace, drumming his nails on a glass of iced tea. He taps his wrist when he spots me. “About time.” Asshole isn’t even wearing a watch.

“What? I’m not late!”

“You’re not early, either.”

Well, this is off to a great start. “We hitting the links, or what?”

“Nah. We’ve already missed our tee time.” He leans back and stretches his legs. “I ordered us sushi.”

Okay. So, somehow, I’ve pissed in his cornflakes. He knows I loathe sushi. And these miserable chairs. And everything about this place, besides the golf. He’s done this on purpose: set me up for a smorgasbord of everything I hate. I settle into the stiff wicker seat. “Okay. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

“Like you don’t know.”

Dick. “The Hamptons thing?”

He makes a tchah sound. “That’s not it, and you know it.”

It’s...not? What the hell else have I done lately?

“I mean, whatever. She’s been sniffing around. I don’t love it, but what’s she going to find? At some high-society bacchanal, no less?” Erik leans forward. “Screw that. It’s you.”

Me? I press my lips together. I’m not going to hazard a guess.

“I mean, the way you’ve been following her around—it’s pathetic. Like a lost puppy. Everyone’s noticed.”

“Everyone, huh?” Our sushi arrives. All uni and ikura. Because a couple of California rolls would’ve killed him. I flick a piece of urchin off and eat the rice. “Fine. I’ll bite. And everyone would be...?”

“Who do you think? Magnus. Katrina. Alicia and Mary. Half the guests at the masquerade. Everyone.” He toys with his chopsticks. “What’s so special about this one?”

“Nothing. She’s fun. A challenge. That’s all. I’m not—” I don’t even know how to finish that thought. What does he think I’m doing, falling in love?

“So that wasn’t you at the movies, the other week, letting her sleep in your lap? In sweatpants, with her hair all....” He flaps his hands around his head, indicating a mess.

“What—you’re stalking us now?”

“Just passing by.” He plucks an ikura roll and pops it in his mouth. Nasty. I watch him chew, trying not to imagine all those tiny balls bursting between his teeth. Seems to take forever before he swallows and licks his lips. “I mean, they’re your fucking rules. And they’re working great. What are you doing?”

My rules. Right. No therapists, no priests, no close friends outside the group. No entanglements. I close my eyes to keep from rolling them. I was practically a kid when I came up with those. Fresh out of the shit and blasted on Vicodin. It’s fine for Erik and Magnus. They’ve got each other. But they’ve been irritating the shit out of me for a while. One fucking adult relationship in my life—is that too much to ask?

I can still blow this off. “What do you want from me? I was tired. So was she. We saw a movie. Who cares?”

“Magnus, for one.”

Magnus. The thought of him getting his paws on her at the end of the year... I’d sooner eat here every day. I pick apart another uni roll. “So I’m a little infatuated. It’s temporary. A sex haze. Remember, I just came off a year-long romance with my right hand.”

Finally, he laughs. “There is that.”

I should leave it right there. But it’s bugging me, now, the idea of Magnus and Stella. Or Erik and Stella, for that matter. She deserves better. Maybe we all do. “What about after these three?”

Erik cocks his head. “I don’t follow.”

“Three years from now. We going to keep doing this through our forties?”

“Don’t see why we wouldn’t.” He’s really laying into that sushi. Talking around a mouthful of uni. “I mean, why fix what ain’t broke?”

“You don’t think it’s getting, I don’t know....” Embarrassing? Juvenile? “I mean, Stella caught on to us already. The more we keep doing this, the more it’ll stand out. And not in a good way.”

“Why would it? We’re not politicians or movie stars. Stella was a fluke. She’s, like...the society page from hell. But there’s only one of her.”

This is getting me nowhere. And Erik’s starting to look at me funny. I wave the waiter over. “Sorry—could I just get a sandwich? Roast beef on rye?”

Erik smirks. “Wondered how long that would take.”

My best friend.