Never Fall for Your Back-Up Guy by Kate O’Keeffe

Chapter 1

“We’re losing. Badly. You need to pull out the big guns, birthday girl.” Asher brandishes his pool cue at me, a smile teasing the edges of his mouth.

I take a sip of my drink, push my long dark hair behind my ears, and shoot Asher my best smile. “I’m on it. Keep your hair on.”

He knits his brows together as he pats the thick thatch of dark hair on top of his head. “Keep my hair on? I think you’ll find it’s pretty well attached to my head.”

“It’s an expression, Ash. Quite common here in England.” I shoot him a look as I collect the pool cue from his hands and examine the table to find the best angle to take my shot. “And anyway, you’re thirty years old. The days may be numbered for those luxurious locks of yours.”

“Never. Gonna. Happen. There’s no way I’m losing my hair.”

I throw him an appraising look. Even if he did lose his hair, he’d still be a major heartbreaker. “I can so see you as a slap head.”

“A slap head?” he guffaws. “Not cool, wifey. Not cool.”

We’ve been calling each other “wifey” and “hubby” ever since we became one another’s back-up person a week ago. It’s harmless banter because we both know we’re never going to actually go through with it.

“My dad is in his late fifties and he has a super thick head of hair,” he continues, obviously still hung up on my comment. “So did his dad, and his before him. Really, we’ve got a long line of thick, manly hair in the McMillan family.”

My lips lift into a smile. “Is that so?”

“Oh, yeah.” He runs his fingers through his hair, which is, I’ll admit, thick. “These babies are here to stay.”

I plant the end of my pool cue on the ground and lean against it. “You know what I think? I think the man doth protest too much.”

“Come on, Zara. Leave the poor guy alone,” my friend, Kennedy, says with a laugh from her spot at the bar leaner. Her perfect teeth smile and long tresses made her a fan favourite on the Dating Mr. Darcy reality TV show. I inherited Kennedy from my sister-in-law, Emma, who was on the show with her. As Kennedy put it, being a single girl in a new city, there’s only so much time she can spend with married people—particularly Emma and my brother, Sebastian, who are deeply in love and spend way too much time canoodling with one another.

She needed to be with the city’s single population.

“Thank you,” Asher says to her. “Us Americans need to stick together.”

“Totally,” Kennedy agrees, flashing that smile.

“U.S.A! U.S.A!” Asher chants with his fist in the air like he’s at a sports stadium.

My friends Lottie, Tabitha, and I do a collective, British eyeroll.

“I’m embarrassed for you, Asher,” Tabitha says, as she drains her drink. “We need another round.” Tabitha is my wild friend from school, who is very much a live in the moment kind of girl. Like I used to be. She’s been known to end a night out being stuck up a tree—or in a prison cell for drunk and disorderly behaviour.

She’s a lot of fun.

“You always need another round, babe,” Lottie, the sweetest of my friends, and also my flatmate, observes with a wry smile.

“Your point?” Tabitha questions her.

Lottie raises her hands in the surrender sign. “I’m just saying.”

“You know what? It’s hard to be an American in London sometimes,” Kennedy says, deflecting attention from Tabitha. “Right, Asher?”

“So true,” he replies. “Understanding what the heck you’re all saying is the first hurdle. Like ‘keep your hair on.’ What does that even mean? Is my hair gonna float off my head in some freak accident?”

“No one could accuse you of being obsessed with your hair,” I say with a laugh. “The expression means relax. And you know, we’re not the ones pretending it’s our accent difference when we get the name of our date wrong.”

“You did that, Asher?” Kennedy asks, her eyes wide.

“Asher doesn’t exactly find it hard to be an American in London if all the British girls lining up to date him is anything to go by. Do you, Asher?” Lottie asks in her sweet way—with an edge. Lottie might be the gentlest of our friend group, but she’s tough in her own way.

“They don’t line up,” he protests. “Well, not in any formal way, at least. It’s more of a random scattering. Maybe I should suggest they form a line? It would make things a lot simpler for me.”

“See?” I say with a shake of my head. “He’s doing just fine.”

“Take your shot, Zee,” he says to me.

I position myself, line up my shot, and tap the white ball into the number thirteen, which slips safely into the side pocket.

“Great work, wifey,” Asher says and we high-five.

“You two are hilarious,” Tabitha says from her spot, where she’s propping up the table. “You become one another’s back-ups and suddenly you’re all wifey this, and hubby that.”

“Maybe Asher could be everyone’s back-up guy?” Lottie suggests, and then adds, “No, wait. That wouldn’t work, not unless they change the British marriage laws.”

I cock an eyebrow. “That’s the reason why it wouldn’t work? Because polygamy is against the law?”

“Are you telling me you don’t want to be my sister wife?” Kennedy asks. “I’m offended.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tabitha adds with a giggle.

“Ladies, ladies,” Asher says. “There’s no need to fight over me.”

The three of us burst into laughter, and he offers us a mock offended look.

“Asher’s ego is clearly alive and kicking,” Tabitha observes.

“And you girls know we’re not actually going to get married, right? We’re just a safety net for one another. Five years is stacks of time to find Mr. Right,” I explain.

“I don’t want to find Mr. Right,” Asher tells us with a wry smile, and I shake my head at him.

“No, you just want a constant stream of Miss Right-For-Nows,” Kennedy says. “Are you gonna take your shot, Zee, or should you just declare Lottie and me the winners right now.”

I walk around the table, working out which shot to take next. It’s not an easy decision, with no clear gimme in sight.

“You’re not gonna find an easy shot,” Kennedy says as I stop to assess the table. “In fact, I’d say now’s about the time you’ll lose to me and Lottie. Again.”

I throw her a look that says bring it on, position my cue over my hand, and pop! I tap my cue against the white and it hurtles across the table, aiming for the number 15 ball. It hits its target, sending the ball racing right into the number 8, forcing it into the pocket. “No!” I call out in dismay.

“Oh, too bad,” Kennedy says as she gleefully high-fives Lottie.

Wasting no time, Kennedy hops off her stool and places her hand on my shoulder. “Time to get us our next round of drinks, I think, Zee.”

I jut out my lower lip. “It was a tough shot. I don’t even think you would’ve been able to get that one.”

“You’re probably right,” she replies with a smile, “but I’ll take that drink all the same.”

“Is that fair on me, the almost-birthday girl?” I ask.

“Yes,” both she and Lottie reply with conviction.

I take the drink orders from them and together Asher and I make our way through the busy London pub, with its high wooden ceiling and long leadlight windows. “Sorry. I totally messed that game up.”

“It was a tricky shot,” Asher replies.

“I guess. There is one thing though. At least we didn’t lose to my brother. I hate that even more.”

“And they say you’re competitive. I think I’ve been there for all of your pool losses to Sebastian. It ain’t pretty.”

I shake my head. “I’m talking since birth.”

“You played pool as a baby?” He widens his eyes in mock surprise. “Wow, advanced.”

I nudge my friend with my elbow. “You’re hilarious. Actually, now that I think of it, I wonder if they make baby pool cues? That would be totally cute.”

He chuckles. “Cute and dangerous. Have you seen many coordinated babies?”

“Good point. What do you want to drink?” I get the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll order. I’ve been working on something.”

“Really.”

“Watch.”

A bartender asks, “What can I get you?” He’s wearing a nametag that reads Priscilla.

“Alright, geezer,” Asher begins, and I turn to him in surprise. “I’ll have a pint of Newky an’ all, fanks, mate.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you trying to sound like you’ve got a serious speech impediment or is that your approximation of a cockney accent?”

“Hey! I thought it was pretty good.”

“It wasn’t.”

“She’s right,” Priscilla, the bartender says. “It was terrible, mate, and I’m from Australia.”

Asher feigns offence. “I thought it was great. I was aiming for David Beckham.”

“It was a lot more Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins than David Beckham, hubby,” I reply. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, that’s what he sounded like!” Priscilla comments. “Dick Van Dyke with that bloody terrible fake cockney accent.”

“How about you get me that pint, buddy, and I’ll keep working on it,” Asher says with a laugh.

Priscilla gives him a supercilious look. “No worries, Mr. Van Dyke. I’m on it. Anything else?”

We run through our list and pay for our drinks. Together, we carry them back through the pub to where our friends are perched on bar stools.

“How’s your business going? Had any more interesting clients lately?” Kennedy asks me as I take a sip of my glass of red wine.

“Oh, Scarlett handles a lot of the new clients. She’s much more experienced than me. She’s been a designer for years and had some amazing clients. You know, celebrities and the super-rich. People you see in the news.”

“Like serial killers?” Asher says.

“No, Ash. Not like serial killers. Actual famous people.”

“Exciting! Anyone we’d know?” Kennedy asks.

“I’m not meant to say.”

Tabitha raises her eyebrows. “Is client confidentiality a big thing in interior design these days?”

“For some people it is,” I reply. I glance around the pub before I lean in closer and all four of them follow suit. It’s not like anyone will overhear us in this busy pub, but you can’t be too careful, can you? Walls and ears and all that stuff. “There’s this one client that Scarlett handled on her own because it was pretty sensitive.”

“And?” Kennedy leads.

“And… let’s just say the word ‘royalty’ might apply to this person.”

“Royalty?” Kennedy says way too loudly, and I shush her right away as my eyes dart around the room. “Which one? Harry and Meghan have left the country, so it won’t be them. Is it Kate and Wills? Oh, I say it’s Kate and Wills.”

I lean back on my stool and raise my palms. “I’ve said enough,” I reply, as though I’ve hinted at a state secret and not that Scarlett redesigned a very, very minor royal’s new London flat a month or two ago.

Kennedy’s face is bright. “Babe, that is so cool. Royalty.”

“If you believe it,” Asher comments.

“What? Why wouldn’t we believe it?” I question. A platinum blonde-haired vision heading our way catches my attention. “You can ask her yourself.”

Scarlett Lamington, business partner and friend, comes waltzing over to our table. She’s always immaculately dressed, and tonight is no exception. She’s in a figure-hugging dress that hits just above the knee, with her platinum hair falling in soft curls down her back and her freshly manicured nails painted a perfect red. With her made up face and killer heels, she looks like she belongs somewhere much more glamorous than our local pub.

“I’m so happy you came,” I say to her, as she pulls me in for a hug. I get a lungful of her expensive perfume.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. You don’t turn thirty every day of the week.” She pulls a face. “Thank goodness.” She greets everyone with a warm smile. “How are you all? It’s nice to see you again.”

“Zara was just telling us that you did some interior design for a member of royalty, Scarlett, but she won’t tell us who,” Kennedy says as Scarlett perches her pert little butt on the edge of a stool.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell. Some people prefer to be discreet,” she says with a mysterious air. “Now, who do I have to sleep with to get a drink around here?” She shoots Asher a flirtatious smile.

“I’ll get you a drink,” I offer, hopping to my feet. “I got the last round for everyone else, so it’s only fair. What will you have?”

“I’ll have a gin and tonic. Artisanal gin, please. Something like boysenberry or grapefruit. Surprise me.”

“Got it.” I feel a hand on my arm.

“You stay put and enjoy yourself, almost-birthday girl,” Asher instructs. “I’ll go get your drink, Scarlett.”

“Thanks,” she replies.

He shoots me a smile before he leaves for the bar.

“Isn’t he sweet? I think we should all have an Asher,” Scarlett says, and we both look over at him. He’s leaning on the bar as he puts in his order with Priscilla, and I wonder if he’s trying out his terrible cockney accent once more. I hope for Priscilla’s sake he isn’t.

As Kennedy, Tabitha, and Lottie chat among themselves, I ask her, “Did you hear from Josie Smith this afternoon?”

She scrunches up her pretty face. “She’s going with Karina for the design. Can you believe it? Another client lost to them.”

The interior design chain, Karina Design moved into a large shop on the high street around the corner from our little shop about three months ago and we’ve been losing clients ever since. We’re the definite David of the David and Goliath combo, and it does not feel good.

My belly tightens. “Seriously? That’s the fourth client this month to bail on us for the shiny new shop on the high street. What are we going to do?”

“I know,” she replies with a sigh. “All we can do is keep on trying to win new business. Do a new window design? Maybe drop our prices? Throw some marketing money at some more ads?”

“We’ve got to do all of it, and fast, or else ScarZar might become an ancient relic.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Scarlett sniffs. “It’s a bad omen.”

Asher returns and places a drink in front of Scarlett. “What’s a bad omen?”

“Talking negatively about ScarZar,” she replies. She takes a sip of her drink. “Ooh, that’s delicious. I can taste the juniper berries, of course, but there’s something else in there, isn’t there? What is it? Black currant? Rose? Oh, I know, indigo.”

“Indigo?” I ask with a chortle “How can you taste indigo? It’s a colour, isn’t it?”

“It’s a rainbow colour, right? Although I strongly suspect no one really knows what colour it actually is,” Asher comments as he takes a seat next to us. “I mean, if it’s purple, why not say it’s purple?”

“That’s why we’re the interior designers,” I tease him.

He leans in closer to us and asks, “Did I hear that you’re losing clients?”

“We’ll be fine,” Scarlett replies.

“Do you want to decorate my new place?” he asks.

I laugh. “I’ve told you before, you can’t afford us.”

He lifts his brows. “Do I have to beg?”

“Are you serious?” I narrow my gaze.

“Is Kelly Slater the greatest surfer of all time?” he asks.

I flick my eyes to Scarlett and we both giggle. I don’t understand Asher when he starts to talk surfing. Being from San Diego, he virtually grew up at the beach, and it’s obvious he misses it.

“I don’t know who this Kelly Slater chick is, so I can’t answer that,” Scarlett replies.

“He is a world surfing record holder, eleven times over, and he has set up this amazing surf ranch in the California desert where you can ride a manufactured wave. It’s not the beach, but it’s pretty awesome.”

Scarlett shoots him a condescending look. “You’re never going to convince me to take up surfing, Asher.”

He cocks an eyebrow in her direction. “Not my intention. Believe me.”

“Asher, you don’t have to get us to decorate your place,” I say. “Although it’s kind of you, we don’t need friends and family offering us charity. We’ll find clients.”

“Look, you saw my new place, Zee. It’s super bland and boring right now. It could totally do with some design.”

“We have real clients, you know. Real, paying clients,” Scarlett says pointedly.

“I’m a real, paying client, and I want Zara to design my entire flat.”

I flick my eyes to Scarlett’s. After a beat she says, “He seems genuine.”

I beam at my friend. “I’d love to do it. Thanks, Ash.”

His lips lift into a smile that lights up his whole face. “Awesome. Swing by next week and we’ll get things rolling.”

Tabitha drapes her arm around Asher’s shoulder. “Where are you swinging by next week?” Her voice is slurred from a little too much booze.

“I’m going to redesign Asher’s new flat,” I tell her, and Kennedy and Lottie join the conversation.

“Oh, your place totally needs that,” Kennedy tells him. “If it wasn’t for your surfboards, there’d be no colour anywhere.”

“Don’t forget the blokey black leather sofas,” Lottie says.

“Can black be considered a colour?” Kennedy asks.

“Black is black, baby,” Tabitha declares, still leaning on Asher. “Hey, can we toast the almost-birthday girl?”

“Oh, yes. Let’s,” Scarlett says.

Everyone collects their glasses from the table and raises them.

“To Zara, our very best friend, who is sadly falling prey to the ravages of time,” Tabitha says before she hiccups loudly and grins at us all.

“How about this?” Kennedy says. “To Zara, the best friend a girl can have—oh, and an Asher.”

“Thank you for remembering me,” he replies.

“To the best friend a girl and an Asher can have,” Lottie, Tabitha, and Scarlett repeat as we all clink glasses and take a sip.

“That makes me sound like I’m my very own gender,” Asher complains.

“You are. You’re Asher,” I reply.

“I need another drink,” Tabitha announces once she’s drained her glass.

“I don’t think you do, babe.” Lottie hops to her feet. “Come on, let’s get you home. It’s a weeknight and the elderly members of our group need their beauty sleep. Isn’t that right, Asher and Zee?”

“Thanks a lot. You’ll all be thirty before you know it, and anyway, I’ve got three more days left of my twenties.”

“I’m desperately holding onto my final few months,” Kennedy says.

Lottie lets out a sigh. “Yeah, me too.”

“You might be thirty on Saturday, Zee, but you don’t look a day over thirty-one to me,” Asher says and he wins a punch to the arm from me.

“Don’t listen to him, babe. You’re gorgeous and we all adore you,” Tabitha declares. “And I’m not just saying that because I had two lovely drinks really rather quickly and they’ve made my head the teensiest bit squiffy.”

“She’s right. You are gorgeous and we do all adore you,” Lottie agrees as Asher and Scarlett and Kennedy nod.

“Aw, thanks you guys.” I beam at them. ScarZar may be struggling right now and I might be about to turn the dreaded thirty, but I’ve got my friends, my London family.