Competitive Nature - Page 4

“Elyssa, would you go out to dinner with me?” the brain surgeon gabbled, apparently in such a rush to get his bid in first that the words were almost unintelligible.

“No, with me!” exclaimed Jay indignantly. “Fuck it, Patrick, you knew I was going to ask her out! I had the idea first!”

“I said the words!”

“I’ve been planning this for months!”

“I’ve been planning it for years!”

“Stop!” Elyssa did not know whether to laugh or cry. She held up a hand, forcing Jay and Patrick to retreat from their imminent clash. “This is craz

y. I’ll go out with both of you. Are you both here for a few days?”

They nodded.

“Sister’s birthday on Wednesday,” mumbled Jay, while Patrick said something about catching up with his rugby club friends.

“Right. So that means I can’t go out with Jay on Wednesday. Tomorrow’s Sunday. Jay, tomorrow I am at your disposal. Patrick, I will go out with you on Monday. All details of activities are completely up to you. Surprise me. Excite me. Do whatever it is you feel you have to do with me. If I can make a choice by Tuesday…I will.”

“Are you serious?” Patrick was staring, blue eyes popping.

“Don’t ask me that. It’s a never-to-be-repeated offer. When I wake up tomorrow, I’ll undoubtedly regret it, but you have the right to hold me to it. Just now, right at this moment, I’m deadly serious. I couldn’t split up your friendship when we were eighteen, but now that we’re thirty-three, and the friendship has faded…well. What’s stopping us?”

Jay and Patrick, recovering from momentary shock, met each other’s eyes with grim determination. Patrick, ever the sportsman, was first to hold out a hand.

“Fair play, old friend,” he said. “And may the best man win.”

Elyssa knew that Patrick was sincere in the sentiment, but she had her doubts as to Jay’s commitment to sporting values. He had never been one to shirk a dirty trick or two in the pursuit of love or high marks, and, while fifteen years might have mellowed him somewhat, she could not imagine anything short of a personality transplant changing that. She assumed he would take full advantage of his pole position in this little contest.

“Oh, the best man will win, Robertson,” he said airily. “You can count on that.”

* * * *

“Bloody, bloody hell.” Elyssa pulled a face at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were watery and her cheeks florid. She had definitely taken too much of that punch, but her mother’s full English breakfast still smelt as good as ever, and a few chugs of hot, sweet tea would put everything right.

Or rather, almost everything.

“Bloody, bloody hell,” she repeated, more forcefully, cringing inwardly at the memory of the stupid challenge she had made last night. Was she truly going to go through with it? Wouldn’t it be better to eat up and creep away early, pretending some work crisis or other? Her parents would be disappointed, since she didn’t see nearly enough of them these days, but at least ritual humiliation and awkwardness might be avoided. Perhaps Jay and Patrick had both been as drunk as she had, and wouldn’t remember. Or would be too embarrassed to…

These thoughts persisted throughout breakfast, but Elyssa was only halfway through her second sausage when the cheery bleep of her mobile intruded into the conversation she was having with her mother about family matters.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” her father wondered, lowering the Sunday paper.

“Oh, it won’t be anything important. They can leave a message. Probably a work thing.”

“On a Sunday?”

“There’s no day of rest for the wicked,” she joked, but her heart was racing fit to break the sound barrier. There was no way she could speak to Jay or Patrick just now. No way on earth. The phone silenced and she took a deep breath, gripping her fork tightly to stop it slipping through her trembling fingers.

The third time the tune rang, she couldn’t fob her parents off.

“Okay, okay, I’m going to answer it,” she huffed, retrieving it from her coat pocket and retreating to the farthest recesses of the living room, where she couldn’t be heard from the kitchen.

“Elyssa! Did I wake you up? God, I’ve wanted to say that for years.”

“Jay. Good morning.” The sound of his voice had tightened her chest, making her greeting sound breathier than she’d intended, and she felt a rush of shocking desire for the low-toned lothario.

“Listen, are you up, seriously?”

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