Just Desserts

“But, no, I don’t usually drink alone and it isn’t because of Cindy.” Spoken like a man.

“Why today? Special occasion?” To Layla’s surprise, there was a fleeting touch of bitterness in his answering smile. There, then gone.

“In a manner of speaking.” He held the unopened bottle loosely, contemplating it for a moment. “An anniversary of sorts.”

“I see.” But she obviously didn’t. And she’d never known Justin to be anything close to morose. It bothered her. “What kind of anniversary?”

He shrugged, and she could see he wasn’t about to give her a straight answer. Instead, he cocked his head, and the old Justin was back. The one she knew and could deal with. “What do you think about me, Layla?”

“Can I use long words? Or shall we stick with monosyllabic?”

“Your choice.”

“I think you’ve never had boundaries. You live life in a free-form way. I don’t believe you give a hoot for consequences. And because of that, sometimes you have to drink alone.”

“You think I’m irresponsible?”

Layla sighed. “Not exactly. I’m saying that in some aspects of your life you are more haphazard than in others.”

He studied her intently for a moment before saying, “Which aspects?” For some reason he needed her to spell it out. Fine. She’d spell.

“Well, judging from what went on in high school, you tend to be mercurial in your personal relationships.” She gestured toward the box. “How many of those have you had in your life?”

“A few,” he admitted.

“But on the other hand, you’re part of a successful business.” She shifted her head on the leather sofa cushion to look at him. “So who am I to judge?” And what could you possibly care about my thoughts after all these years?

She got to her feet. It seemed like a good time to go. In fact, suddenly she felt as if she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Something was off here…something that didn’t feel like it used to, and it was making her patently uncomfortable. Why was Justin asking her opinion of him? And in such a deeply serious way. And why was he suddenly looking like an attractive guy instead of her archrival?

“I need to get back home,” she said lamely. “I have…stuff to do.” More lameness.

“Do you make a spreadsheet or something for that?” he asked mildly. Layla didn’t bother answering. She picked up the case and Justin walked with her to the door. When they got there, he put his hand on the knob as if he was going to open it for her, then said, “We’ve been through a lot, you and I.”

“Meaning you made my life miserable when I was a kid? Yes.”

“If you hadn’t been so easy to mess with, so…reactive…”

“Blaming the victim, Justin?” she asked softly.

“You were never a victim. You gave as good as you got.” He touched his bruised cheekbone.

Funny, but she didn’t remember it that way. Maybe she’d tried, but… “I was never in your league, Justin, so it wasn’t a fair contest.”

He frowned a little, his expression distant, as if calling up a long lost memory—something that involved her, no doubt.