I shook my head, pretending I didn’t know what she was talking about. “Have you ever considered I might be happy? Isn’t that the whole point to all this? To be happy? And I am. I love my job, I love my family, and I love my friends. I have a good life, Suzanne.”
She snorted this time. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”
I felt my blood heat in indignation. “What is your problem tonight? Is it because of Seb? Because you’re welcome to him.”
This time Suzanne turned on me with narrowed eyes. “Oh, I could have him if I wanted to, don’t worry.”
“Then what’s the attitude about?”
“Ugh, don’t talk to me like I’m one of your kids. You know, you’ve gotten really boring lately.”
I laughed incredulously at the turn our conversation had taken. Suzanne wasn’t the most tactful person, and she had a tendency to snap impatiently at people, but tonight she was turning her reserve of nastiness on me, which she’d never done before. “In my defense, you are acting like a child.”
“Eh, whatever.” She threw her hands up in despair, like the consummate drama queen she was. “Let’s just see if Michaela wants to go clubbing…” I felt sure she was going to say something else, but in the end she just pinched her lips together and stormed out of the toilets.
I was leaving the toilets when I got a text from Lucy, a friend from teacher training, asking if I fancied joining her for a drink. She was around the corner at a pub on the Royal Mile with a few friends and knew I was out tonight. I texted her back, then casually made my way over to my friends.
“Michaela has decided to come with us,” Suzanne said cheerily, like she hadn’t just verbally bitch-slapped me in the toilets.
I squeezed Michaela’s shoulder and smiled at them all. “You guys have a good night. I have somewhere I need to be.”
Ignoring Suzanne’s sputtering, I sauntered out of there, away from the drama and the gorgeous boys, and spent the rest of the evening getting drunk with people who didn’t care if I was single or married, skinny or fat, ambitious or laid-back. They were just out to relax and de-stress from work, and that was all I was looking for too.
Life was good. I certainly didn’t need anyone trying to tell me it wasn’t because they themselves were discontented.
CHAPTER 2
The next morning I woke up to get ready for Jo and Ellie’s baby shower. My mum, Elodie, was hosting it at my parents’ house for all the girls, while the men looked after the kids.
I’d just switched off my hairdryer and was sitting down to do my makeup when my door buzzer went off. Not expecting anyone, I wondered if one of the girls had decided to drop in on me before the baby shower.
“Hello?” I called into the entry phone.
“It’s me,” a familiar deep and masculine voice said.
Pleased by the unexpected visit, I answered, “Come on up.”
When I opened my door Cole Walker smiled at me and strode inside. I turned my cheek for his kiss and offered him a coffee.
“Sure.” He followed me into my kitchen.
Cole Walker was Jo’s little brother. He was a year younger than me, but you’d never know it. I’d never met a guy so close to my age as mature as Cole. For as long as I’d known him he’d been that way. He acted more like a thirty-year-old than the twenty-one-year-old he was.
We’d been friends because our families were close, but the year I turned seventeen we’d grown closer. So close, I considered him my best friend. I often thought it was a shame there wasn’t any sexual chemistry between us, because Cole was seriously one of the best guys I’d ever met and he would make anyone a fantastic boyfriend.
Despite being a little hotheaded, especially when it came to anyone hurting or even pissing off someone he cared about, Cole was the least judgmental person I knew. There were occasions when he could be cocky and come off as intimidating to those who didn’t know him well, but I knew him to be down-to-earth, easy to talk to, intelligent, creative, compassionate, loyal, and sensible, despite what his appearance might suggest to people inclined to judge a book by its cover.
A few inches over six feet, Cole was broad-shouldered and athletically built – he had an amazing body, honed in martial arts classes and weekly visits to the gym. He had messy strawberry blond hair that his sister was always nagging at him to cut, gorgeous green eyes, and a handsome face that was usually scruffy and in need of a shave. It wasn’t his natural good looks that raised eyebrows, although he did turn heads. It was the tattoos. He had lyrics tattooed on his inner right wrist, and black feathers on the back of his right shoulder that reached over and down his upper biceps, the feathers leading to an eagle that was flying, wings outstretched. In its talons dangled an old-fashioned pocket watch. He had yet to cover his left arm, although he was working on ideas for a sleeve.
He also had the same tattoo as Cam. They were best mates. Cole designed it when he was fifteen. It was a “J&C” that was visible in among this almost tribal-like design of vines and curlicues. Cam had it on his chest. When he was eighteen Cole had the same tattoo inked on the side of his neck where his pulse throbbed.
I knew how much that tattoo meant to him. For Cam the “J&C” symbolized not only his relationship with Jo but his relationship with Cole as well. For Cole, the “J&C” was Jo and Cam. Cole had had a pretty shitty time of it at home with his alcoholic mum, Fiona. She was never there for him. Jo had raised him. When Cole was fourteen Jo discovered their mother was beating him, and not long after that they moved in with Cameron and left their mum alone in the flat upstairs.