“Are you here alone?”
“Nah. I’m here for a stag do. My best friend is getting married.”
“Shouldn’t you be with him?”
“Would you believe everyone else in our group is still sleeping off their hangovers from last night?”
I puff my cheeks out. “Wow. That must have been a good night.”
“Oh, it was. But I promised I’d be the sensible one who made sure Will didn’t get handcuffed naked to a lamppost with a bottle stuck up his arse.”
Lemonade splutters out of my nose, and I bend double, choking.
“So I stayed sober, and now I’ve got nothing to do while everyone else recovers.”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it. Close it. “I honestly have no words.”
He laughs. “So we’re clear, I made sure Will got back to his hotel room safe and sound.”
“I’m sure he appreciates having a friend like you.”
“I sure hope so. Now we’ve established my friend credentials, do you need to talk?”
Do I? Would offloading to a total stranger give me any clarity? I’ve not even mentioned Jacob to my friends. Despite risking kissing him earlier, I’ve been taking my promise to keep our relationship secret seriously. But we were open with our affection during the rainforest tour, so how is this any different? I’ll never see Regan again.
I take a breath. “I’ve fallen for my stepbrother.”
“Wow. Okay.”
“Is that terrible?”
“I might need some context.”
I swipe my thumb over the condensation of the glass. Maybe I should have asked for something stronger, although that would have given him a message I didn’t want to send.
“My mum had an affair with his dad, and they got married without telling either of us. We hooked up, not knowing who the other was, and now we do know, we still can’t keep away from each other.” I sip my drink and wait for Regan to processwhat I said. Why is he taking so long to say anything? “Oh, and Mum’s only two years older than him.” I should probably have mentioned that right away.
“Do you think it’s terrible?” Regan asks.
“Jacob does.”
“He’s your stepbrother?”
“Yes. He’s worried everyone will judge us and tell us it’s wrong.”
“But what do you think?”
“I-I thought I didn’t care what anyone thought.”
“But—?”
“Sitting here, waiting for you to deliver a verdict…”
He chuckles. “A verdict? That’s a bit extreme. I’m not a judge, jury, or executioner.”
I half smile. “I guess it doesn’t matter what I think if everyone else has a problem with us being together.”
“Do you think I do?”
