Page 34 of Flirting with Forever

Richie nodded. Conferring with colleagues was commonplace and one of the best tools in a public defender’s arsenal. John had learned immediately that pride always, one hundred percent of the time, had to be shelved when it came to better serving a client. He helped absolutely no one if he didn’t ask for help when he needed it, and he wasn’t about to let his arrogance get in the way of exonerating someone.

Knowing he had only a few minutes if he wanted to catch Naya—he’d heard her say she had court that day—John quickly checked his email on his desktop and frowned. There was one personal email from his father, and it was addressed to both him and Maddox. Email threads with the three of them were historically...not great.

John opened it and groaned. His father wanted the three of them to “get out of town” at the end of August. “Just a week somewhere cooler,” the email suggested. John scrolled down the links his father had taken the time to copy and paste. There were two rentals on Martha’s Vineyard and one rental on a lake in Colorado. He did some quick pricing math.

If they were splitting a vacation like this evenly, John would owe roughly $168 a night. Just for lodging. And that wasn’t counting the amount it would cost to even get to these places.

“Why in God’s name do people like leaving New York?” he grumbled to himself.

Money sat like a stone at the heart of this email. If John had accepted money from his father, the way he’d tried to get John to do countless times, John would easily be able to afford a vacation like this. As it was, John couldn’t even afford the week off of work, let alone an ungodly expensive week off of work. Which also meant that he wouldn’t be spending a week with his father and brother. Who were doing their best to include him in their lives.

John supposed it wasn’t their fault that they had such expensive taste. Just like it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t. A beach house for a few days on Fire Island? Maybe John could swing that. He’d pay to stay for a weekend or so and maybe commute back and forth one or two other days he could take off of work. That wouldn’t run him more than five hundred dollars total. A wince-worthy sum, but doable in the name of family, he supposed.

But John Whitford Sr. was never going to go for a week on Fire Island. Nope. It just wasn’t his style. John wondered if it even occurred to his father how expensive an ask this vacation was. If he’d even paused in sending out this email, reflecting on how John would feel upon receipt.

Was it even fair to wonder that, though? Because when John had rejected the trust fund from his father, hadn’t he effectively been saying that he wanted his father to stay out of his financial life? Was it fair for John to want it both ways? For him to expect his father to take his money and shove it but also to painstakingly consider John’s finances whenever he wanted a week of vacation with his sons?

John clicked out of the email. This was hurting his brain. And he had Hang Nguyen to think about.

JOHNBLINKEDATthe basket of fries that had just been slid underneath his nose. He looked up to see Richie upending a bottle of mustard into one end of the basket.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

John felt some of his crusty mood finally crumble away. He was out with his best friend, who was only trying to cheer him up. There was no reason to scowl into his beer and waste the whole evening.

“Thanks,” John said, swiping a few fries and then pushing the basket between the two of them so that they could share. “You were right, by the way. I’ve been in a bad mood.”

“Are you finally gonna tell me why?”

John twisted his beer in one direction and then the other. “Had a crush on Mary. She just wants to be friends. But I’m taking some time away from her, and that’s helping. I should be over it soon. Sorry I’ve been a dick.”

John looked up at his friend and was surprised to see that Richie had gone sheet white. Very uncharacteristic. “Shit. John. I didn’t know. I should probably tell you that—”

“Hi, guys!”

John froze on his barstool, the two friends exchanging lightning-fast eye contact.

You didn’t, John’s eyes said.

Sorry, dude, Richie’s eyes responded.

John broke the eye contact in time to turn and see Mary swing toward them on those long legs of hers, her hand still raised in a wave and the smile on her face bright enough to make a planet orbit.

He was dimly aware of almost every head in the bar turning to watch her walk past.

He was also dimly aware of every single one of those heads watching her toss her arms around him and press a kiss to his cheek. “John! Richie didn’t say you’d be here too. I’m so happy to see you!”

She pulled back and gave Richie the same treatment, a hug and a kiss, and John tried very hard not to look like she’d just smashed a water balloon over his head, even though that was kind of how he felt. He let his eyes ricochet over the other faces in the bar, and he watched as his colleagues and peers all bounced their eyes between John, Richie and the new girl.

This was an after-work bar, and Mary, in her white sundress and blue heels, her sunny hair down her back, stuck out glaringly among all the sweaty rumpled suits and pantsuits.

“How have you been? Oh, thanks!” Mary gracefully accepted the barstool he’d just vacated for her. She pointed at his beer. “Yours?”

“Yeah. I’ve been pretty good. Mostly just busy with wor—”

He cut off as he watched Mary take his ice-cold beer and bring it to her lips. He felt heat rise up along his back, making his shirt stick to his skin. That was the cheapest beer on the menu, which meant that Mary had essentially just swallowed a gulp of watered-down frat beer. Why couldn’t he have sprung for some expensive foreign beer for once in his life?

“Mmm,” she said, pressing her eyes closed for a second. “That’s so perfect for a hot day. Makes me want to go to a ball game.” She waved her hand at Marissa, who’d been pretending to wipe the counter four feet away while eavesdropping on the newcomer. “Hi! Can I have one of these?”

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