Page 45 of Wide-Eyed
My best mate sighed. “I was thirty-four when I met Hannah. She’s twenty-seven, same as Mikey.”
Lyssa poked me with a neon green nail. “So that age gap is fine for a best friend—someone you trust with all your secrets, who loves you without sexual bonuses—but not for a romantic relationship?”
I raised my head. “Yes. Obviously.”
“Would you have the same problem if Hannah were the one who was older than Dean?”
“No. Obviously.”
“Then you’re a hypocrite,” Lyssa said, hands on her hips.
She was very heated on this topic. This surprised me until I remembered the old guy with the pocket square from her livestream. My bad mood got badder.
Dean looked like he wished he were anywhere else. The age difference between him and Hannah had initially concerned him too (even though it wasn’t actually that big of a gap, I’d just been looking for reasons to be a hater).
“It’s the principle of the thing,” I insisted, motioning to Jason for another beer. “I may have fucked around a bit over the years?—”
Dean snorted.
“Shut up, Dean. Fine, a lot. But I always kept the age windows toit!”
My dad appeared over Dean’s shoulder, having finished his chat with Nolan.
“Kevin!” Lyssa exclaimed, joy brightening her face. “You’re here!”
Lyssa was super into my dad. Off the back of the chat about age gaps, it made me prickle. Obviously, I knew Lyssa didn’t have designs on my old man. Kevin Holliday was a spry enough chap, but the only way he was pulling a twenty-six-year-old was if he were significantly richer and had a dodgy ticker.
But why’d Lyssa have to be so fucking thrilled to see him all the time?
She was never that thrilled to see me.
My badder mood was rapidly becoming my baddest.
I grumbled something and took another sip of beer.
Kev pulled up a stool and leaned his crutch against the bar. Dean, who was closer than me, subtly braced a hand behind him. I looked at Lyssa pointedly, because I could climb onto a barstool without anyone to spot me, but she missed it. She was too busy making gooey eyes at my dad.
“How was your day, Kevin?” she asked.
“Can’t complain, thanks, Lyss. Busy. Did a little bit of this, little bit of that.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re an international man of mystery,” I grumbled. Dad looked puzzled and I immediately felt bad. Fixing my attitude, I asked, “How’s the knee?”
“Good thanks, Mikey. I’ll be running marathons in no time.”
We both laughed.
“Why is that funny?” Lyssa asked, looking between us.
“Hollidays aren’t runners,” Dad explained.
“Only if something is chasing you,” I said. “Even then, depends what.”
“Hannah says running is for the unimaginative,” Dean added.
The three of us chortled. I was on my fourth—fifth?—drink and starting to feel better about life. So what if I had the hots for a girl who was off limits and seemed to prefer guys who’d learned math on an abacus?
I had beer.
