“Shut up.” I shove her with my sock-clad foot. I wish Bella was on board with my strategy of denial. I trust her advice implicitly. She’s been my bestie since primary school and always has my back. She was the one who insisted we find a flat and move in together, despite both being broke, when living with my mother became unbearable. It was always toxic. Then I decided to study ancient history, majoring in Egypt. If she’d been an attentive mother this wouldn’t have come as a shock. Let’s just say you could hear the argument three suburbs away. The animosity built up to a point where I seriously considered dropping out. But Bella stepped in. Now we pay a—thankfully—peppercorn rent to her parents for an investment flat they own. Which is theonly way we can afford to exist. It’s hand to mouth but going back home is not an option.
“Anyway, this is different. You didn’t know who he was or that you’d be working together.”
“Like anyone will care when or how it happened. Or even believe I had no idea who he was. There’s no way I could stay on at the uni and listen to more gossip—again—if they found out, and I’m not going to risk my PhD for a one-night stand I don’t intend repeating. Not to mention the embarrassment. I’m guessing he won’t want that kind of gossip either. Who’d want to be compared to my father?”
“What if he wants to revisit your one-night stand? Even you said it was exceptional. Maybe he’d like to see where it could go. The way you described his house, it doesn’t sound like he’s married. Would giving it another round be so bad?” Bella’s face is glowing with hope—or should I say hopeless—romanticism.
“Have you not been listening? Hooking up with him could derail my PhD. I’ve worked too hard to risk that over anyone. And stop trying to pair me off.”
Bella’s bottom lip comes out in a disappointed pout. This is a conversation we revisit on the regular.
“Well, I’m not seeing the problem for him. Really, there’s no need for him to keep it a secret. In fact, you could make the argument it would be best for him to fess up now. Hiding it just makes it seem even more sketchy. And since he didn’t know who you were, and you’re well and truly over the age of consent, he’s done nothing wrong.”
“I’ll have to convince him we need to keep it quiet somehow, that’s all.”
“So, you talk him into agreeing to ignore it, even though not being honest may well put his career at risk, and you carry on as if nothing happened?” I hate that she makes such a good point.
“Yes?” It comes out as a question, and that doesn’t bode well. If I’m not certain it will work, I don’t imagine Ethan will be either.
“Right. I can’t see anything going wrong in that scenario at all.”
Unfortunately, I can see lots going wrong. Especially when I’m tucked up in bed, having polished off half a bottle of red and the better part of a pizza.
Everything I’ve been working towards is hanging in the balance. I learnt at a young age that men can’t be trusted with anything more important than your coffee order. And even then, you take the lid off to check before you sip.
Now I’m having to trust a complete stranger to keep a secret for no good reason other than I asked nicely.
There’s also the undeniable fact that there’s something about Ethan Carter that calls to me on a cellular level. And whatever that something is, I need to nix it right now. Which doesn’t explain why my hand creeps under the waistband of my fluffy pyjama pants.
Chapter Five
Ethan
Fuck. I can’t believe how badly I screwed up. I’ve slept with a grand total of three women in over two years and somehow managed to find one who is not only a colleague but a student.
I need to fess up to Jennifer. Immediately. But it doesn’t only affect me. It impacts Sadie—good to have a name for the face that’s been haunting me—as well, and her reaction when we were introduced in the copy room suggested she didn’t want Jennifer to know.
Or maybe she didn’t recognise me? No. I saw the slight widening of her eyes. The pinking of her cheeks. She knew who I was alright.
And that’s not the only problem. There’s my reaction to her.
She’s just as gorgeous as I remember, which puts to rest the line I’ve been selling myself about my imagination.
While I wouldn’t say I’ve been pining for her since we spent that wild night together, it would not be true to say I haven’t thought about her at all. It would also not be true to say I haven’ttaken matters into my own hand—as my brother Will would say—while thinking about her.
Let’s just say, when I saw her today, I was glad I was wearing a long, chunky knit sweater. Because things in my boxers were moving of their own accord. Pavlov’s dogs have got nothing on me.
I was relieved she was nowhere to be found when Jennifer and I returned from lunch. Jen pointed me in the direction of my office, introduced me to the IT guy, and left me to get my passwords and systems access sorted while she went off to a heads of department meeting.
By the time the IT guy’s finished, I’ve worked through half a dozen ways of telling Jennifer about how Sadie and I first met, and none of them feel quite right. Particularly given the exchange in the copy room. I’m saved from making a snap decision when I see Jen getting into the lift, satchel in hand. Turning and catching me watching her, she gives a cheerful wave as the doors close. So, at least I have the night to think it over. Unfortunately, there’s a direct correlation between time passing and the awkwardness this conversation will cause.
Although hopefully now I’ll have time to talk to Sadie about it first. I don’t want to take all agency out of her hands and blindside her with whatever I decide. We did the crime together; we need to decide how we do the time together.
As luck would have it, my brother Will is in Sydney tonight and messages me, suggesting we catch up. Our mother is throwing his partner Freyja a baby shower, and he’s been told in no uncertain terms men are not welcome. It’s funny to see him so sulky about it. Maybe I can run my dilemma past him. He loves an excuse to hand out advice.
Two years ago, I would’ve bet a large sum of money against him becoming a father. An even larger sum against him being deliriously happy about it. And an obscene amount against himmoving to the country to commune with cows. But something happened to all of us when my wife, Jess, died. And now here we are.
The entire crew is at the yacht club when I arrive. My brothers Will and Ben, our brother-in-law Josh, and our might-as-well-be-a-brother Nick Pierce. Over the years, we’ve all sailed at this club. Not all that long ago, we wouldn’t have dreamt of spending a night out here. It was strictly for a quick meal and a beer after a race. These days, the quiet bar and laid-back atmosphere seem to suit my settled-down brethren better than a noisy pub or club.
