Bis Until Fountain Bridge (On Dublin Street 01)

He’d never taken me out for a drink just the two of us before. Recently he, Braden and I would meet up for a drink or two but never just Adam and I.

 

As I walked down the street with him, arm and arm, I allowed myself the fantasy that we were a couple. That’s what other people would see when they passed us. My chest squeezed with utter longing.

 

Unrequited love wasn’t nearly as romantic as the books made it seem.

 

“Who don’t you know in this city?” I teased in an attempt to appear normal around him.

 

Adam grinned. “There are a few people I’ve yet to meet.”

 

I snorted at that. Adam and Braden called Edinburgh “their city” and they almost meant that literally. They had acquaintances everywhere and anytime I was out with one of them we spent half our time greeting people they knew. Some might say that Adam would never have had that kind of relationship with the city if he hadn’t grown up as Braden’s best friend.

 

Unlike us, Adam didn’t come from a well-off family. His mum and dad were ordinary folks who never really gave the impression that they’d wanted to be parents. Adam had been an accident. Although they’d never been neglectful or cruel, his parents had been distant, and he’d spent most of his childhood hanging out at Braden’s and bemoaning the summers when Braden was off in Europe with his mother. As soon as Adam turned eighteen and moved into student housing that put him into a lot of debt, his parents had gotten on a plane and moved to Australia. He heard from them once a month. Incidentally, Braden had paid off Adam’s student debt as a graduation present, something he proudly wouldn’t accept until Braden had gotten him drunk and recorded his slurred acceptance on his iPhone. I’d heard the recording.

 

He’d said “Love you, mate, you’re beautiful” so many times to Braden I’d almost peed my pants with laughter.

 

I knew Adam well enough to know his difference in background didn’t mean anything.

 

Even if he hadn’t had Braden there opening all these doors, I believed with his charm and charisma he’d still be a guy that a lot of people knew, liked, wanted to be or wanted to sleep with.

 

When we got to the bar and restaurant, dinner service was just finishing up and the place was crowded.

 

“Adam,” a bartender called to him as soon as we walked in and Adam gave him a chin nod. “I’ll get you a table.”

 

We followed him as he claimed a table a couple was leaving, wiping it down with a wet dishrag. The guy eyed me as I slid into the booth and then he gave Adam a smile of approval that made me blush to my roots.

 

“What can I get you?”

 

“I’ll have a Macallan and ginger ale. Sweetheart, what do you want?”

 

“I’ll have a mojito, please.”

 

Adam settled into the booth with me, his arm sliding along the back of the seat behind my head. For some reason I felt incredibly awkward and I struggled to find something to say.

 

“Sorry your date was rubbish.”

 

Adam shrugged. “I’ll just celebrate with you.”

 

“Celebrate?”

 

He gave me a small grin, looking boyishly pleased about something. I felt that look hit me between my legs. I needed help. “I’m now a registered architect.”

 

My lips parted on a silent exclamation and I impulsively threw my arms up and around him. “Congratulations!”

 

He chuckled against my ear and I shivered, loving the press of those strong, creative hands against my back. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

 

“Does Braden know?” I asked, pulling away.

 

“Yeah. He congratulated me by giving me a permanent contract.”

 

I laughed. That was so Braden.

 

Adam had gotten his practical experience to complete his qualification by working alongside Braden’s architect. This last year, however, he’d been doing the work himself and having now achieved all the qualifications and experience he required, he’d applied to ARB

 

(Architects Registration Board UK).

 

“I’m really happy for you.”

 

“I know. That’s why I’d much rather be here with you than with Megan.”

 

“Meagan,” I corrected.

 

“Whatever,” Adam muttered.

 

Our drinks came and I asked him about the project he and Braden were working on now.

 

Adam then asked about my classes. I had chosen to study History of Art and Fine Art with grand hopes of becoming a gallery curator one day, but now that I was in the course, at the university, I was falling in love with the idea of a career in academia. Clark, who was a professor of classical history at the university, was extremely proud and excited that I wanted to follow in his footsteps. When I told Braden I was thinking of doing a phD in Art History he’d given me Adam’s “are you daft?” look, but then kissed me on the forehead and told me to do whatever made me happy.

 

The night seemed to speed away from us and before I knew it I was on my third mojito and snuggled much deeper into Adam’s side, laughing as he regaled me with his and Braden’s antics at work and elsewhere.

 

To the outside world the two of them were extremely mature young men in their mid-twenties.

 

I knew better.