If it wasn’t clear before that I was pulling these out of myarse, it was now. The amusement she was trying to cover up with a bite of her bottom lip told me she saw through my bullshit.
‘Accepting a nice gesture,’ I said with resolve.
Her mouth dropped open. ‘I can accept nice gestures from people.’
‘Uh-huh, sure you can.’
‘Hey, I can. You’re sitting here, aren’t you?’ She sniffed, crossing her arms.
‘And I’m yet to hear a thank you for the delicious lasagne I made from scratch.’
Her features shifted to a mask of indifference as she lifted her shoulders in a casual shrug. ‘It was okay.’
‘Okay?’ I barked. An insult to my cooking shot straight to my heart. ‘That was one of the best goddamn lasagnes I’ve ever made, woman.’
Her head tilted back. A laugh that sounded like sunshine rippling through the air.
‘Fine.’ She held up her hands in defeat. ‘It was pretty good.’
It was incredible. But I got the sense thatpretty goodwas all the compliment she was going to give me. I took it with a playful glower.
She held my gaze, and the humour flickered out of those aqua eyes, replaced by a different spark. The air between us pulled taut. Suddenly, the table separating us felt like an ocean. I wanted to haul her out of the chair and satisfy the desire burning in her eyes, desire that thrummed through my veins.
A sharp yap cut through the air, snapping the cord on the intense eye-fucking taking place. Rosie moved from her seat and started gathering all the plastic containers, throwing them in the bin in the corner of the room.
‘So, I guess we’re counting this as date number two?’ Herback was facing me as she washed her hands in the sink. The high-pitched quality to her voice unnatural and whollyun-Rosie like.
I waited for her to turn around. When she did, her face was a mask of indifference—I hated how much it hurt.
‘Any reason we wouldn’t?’ I smiled ruefully. Wanting to hear words I knew she’d never say.
After a beat, her lips stretched into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘None that I can think of.’
20
My online researchfor the evening told me just how deep I was in this hole.
Can a lack of sex make your vagina close up?
The second I typed it and the second link was to a rather disturbing porn video. I slammed my laptop closed and poured myself an obscenely big glass of wine.
Tomorrow morning we were heading down to the cabin, or rather, the treehouse. Fallon sent me the address. That had been my original search before my horny mind went wandering. Looking at the images of the stunning place she booked for the weekend, a stab of pride pulled tight in my chest.
I’d watched Fallon struggle for years, first with her shitty job as she nearly killed herself trying to prove how talented she was, and how much she fucking deserved to be there. Then I watched her pick up the remains of her life and start again. She was now a burgeoning name in publishing. The book she’d written about Oliver still sat on the bestseller list after two months. And her confidence had flourished right alongside her career.
I spent years hugging the stomach she used to be so self conscious of. Telling her to wear that fucking crop top and who gives a shit what people say. Slowly, almost glacially, she’d started chipping away at the wall of insecurity she’d built around her beautiful body. Now Oliver was around, she didn’t just get that validation from me; she heard it in stereo.
I might still have my doubts about him—that I was working to eradicate—but I saw the unapologetic love he showered her with.
Her success meant she could surprise him with a luxury getaway for the entire weekend. I’d never been more proud of someone in my life.
When the pictures of the treehouse popped up, it looked like the perfect couple’s retreat. And that had been the catalyst leading me to inadvertently search for porn.
Roxy’s nervous energy had been filling my flat the entire day. Times like this, I wished she could understand me. Because no matter how many strokes I gave, or how many times I assured her she was coming with me, she stuck to my side like glue. Her unease grew more every hour. My constant nights out had got to her. Even though she loved going to stay with Mum, her separation anxiety didn’t let her stay calm for very long.
Going to the toilet whilst a pair of sad chocolate eyes stared at you was a unique experience.
My suitcase was splayed open on the end of the bed, several outfits strewn over every surface. I’d video called Fallon for an hour, trying to figure out what to pack, but our conversation had been derailed into talking about the new season of Love Island. By the time we’d got back on track, Oliver came home from the gym and her mind hadn’t been in the right zone for helping me pack.
