Tabby glared at her client. “He sounds like ass cancer.”
“Was he… your boyfriend?”
“Fuck no. We were mates. Not that it matters. After we hooked up, he ran away like a little bitch because he got everything he wanted out of the situation.”
“Sleeping with you?”
“Not having to be a late-in-life virgin.” She could hear the venom in her voice but was powerless to tone it down.
“He was a virgin?”
“Yup. Or at least he said he was. He didn’t bleed after.”
“But was it good? Making love to him?”
Tabby wanted to snort like an angry horse, then remembered Jo was a paying customer. “No. Like, it was fine, but it was one fucking time.”
“Sometimes, one time is all it takes.”
“To turn into an insufferable dunce? Apparently.”
“Wow, you really know how to hold a grudge, huh?”
“Yup.”
No, not really. Sam was the DaSilva who nursed grudges. Over the years, Tabby had let plenty of worse crap go, but something about Toby had every cell in her body baying for his blood. Well, not ‘something.’ Several very specific things she had no intention of telling Jo.
She concentrated on tracing a tiny six-point star close to her client’s inner elbow, but her mind showed her Toby, sprawled naked across her bed, his lean, tennis player body gleaming with sweat.
“You’re so beautiful it hurts,” he’d said. “I swear it’s like a knife down my ribs whenever I look at you. I can’t believe this is fucking happening…”
The day he’d left her bedroom, she’d been so giddy everyone at the studio thought she was high. It wasn’t just Toby’s big dick and endless enthusiasm; it was his voice and his muscular thighs, and the sounds he made when he came. It was how they’d talked between sessions, laughing and winding their fingers together as they discussed everything and nothing.
It had felt like the start of something. It had actually been the end.
“Are you still thinking about your evil friend?”
Tabby glanced at Jo. “He’s not my friend.”
“My mistake. Are you thinking about the guy you had casual intercourse with who turned evil? Can I know what those thoughts are?”
He’d licked her pussy like he was born to do it. Swirling his tongue around her clit and sucking lightly until she saw stars.
“Have you been practising on pillows?” she’d gasped.
“Porn tutorials,” he’d said, red spreading across his cheeks. “Is it… was I okay?”
Tabby squeezed her eyes tight, then opened them, wishing the action could delete her memories like a backspace bar. Yes, she was thinking about Toby. No, she wasn’t going to tell this nice old broad about them burning through a whole pack of condoms as they went at it again and again. Even her love of drama had limits.
“I’m trying not to think about him,” she said. “He doesn’t deserve it.”
“Did he stop talking to you?” Jo asked. “After you’d made love? Did he… what’s that young person thing…? Ghost you?”
Tabby couldn’t blame her for wanting to stay on the topic of Toby—she’d brought him up after all—but she was beginning to regret being such a loudmouth almost as much as she regretted the phrase ‘made love’ existed.
“Yeah. He ghosted me.”
But again, that wasn’t exactly the truth.
