He’d had a lot of experiences since Tabby, but tonight was the first time he’d had sex he couldn’t care less about. It showed, too. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t come. Eventually, he’d faked it. Thank fuck for condoms, or he’d have had some explaining to do.
Maybe he’d have done better if it was one-on-one, but Olive and Lily liked threesomes. Both were into power play, being bossed around and told to eat each other out. It was hot, but there was definitely some repressed bisexuality at play. Olive and Lily were petitioning to stay over most nights so they could 69 without their friends—or parents—thinking they might not end up married to News Corp shareholders.
His first real girlfriend had come out of the closet shortly after they’d broken up. Maybe he had a type. But he hadn’t felt much beyond platonic affection for his first girlfriend, and he didn’t feel anything for Olive and Lily.
His type appeared to be one singular woman—Tabby DaSilva.
Toby drained his glass of ice water and immediately felt it pour out of his forehead. He could put on the air conditioner, but he hadn’t yet outgrown the habit of cost-cutting. He’d never had more than two minutes of AC without his dad barrelling in to ask if he knew how expensive electricity was. Sweating through Melbourne summers was normal, and lately, he craved normal.
The talking in his bedroom stopped, and he wondered if the girls had fallen asleep. A second later, a low moan confirmed that no, sex had resumed. Toby raised his empty glass to his forehead and wondered if he’d be required to join Olive and Lily or if he could just stay in the lounge and be miserable.
He shouldn’t have invited them over, but they’d asked, and he wanted the release. A few hours ago, he’d been sitting at a table for one in Footscray, getting sympathetic looks from servers as he digested the fact Tabby stood him up—and had sent him across town in peak-hour traffic to do it.
It wasn’t that much of a surprise. He’d known Tabby was pissed at him when he saw her at the Village Belle, but her tattoo offer had seemed genuine. He’d hoped it was finally time to circle back, to show her he’d become someone worthy. Apparently, she didn’t feel the same.
He’d called her from Bar Josephine and, never one to back down from a fight, she’d answered on the second ring. “¿Buenas noches?”
“You seem to be running a bit late, Tabitha.”
She’d burped into the phone. “Who’s this?”
Toby had had damp pits, gotten pity stares galore and blown seventy bucks on an Uber, and hestillhad to fight back the urge to laugh. “I take it youdon’twant to tattoo me?”
“Toby, who?”
He forced himself to sigh. “Congratulations. You sent me on a wild goose chase and wasted my time. Now, can we?—”
“Oh, is it annoying when someone wastes your time? I wouldn’t know.”
The corners of Toby’s mouth had kicked up. His leavinghadaffected her. “I assume you’re not coming to Footscray?”
“No, I’m behind you! Look!”
He turned, then swore as Tabby cackled down the line. “You’re such a fucking virgin.”
“You, of all people, know that’s not the case.”
“Virginity’s a state of mind, Toberson. And no matter how much gash you dive into, you’ll always be a big old virgin to me.”
Toby had growled into his phone. She was trying to push him back into that old dynamic. The state of affairs where she had all the power and the experience. He’d spent almost two years and most of his conscience correcting that dynamic and he wouldn’t be put back into the ‘gawky friend’ box without a fight.
“Tabitha,” he’d snarled as though to a wayward intern. “Do you want to do my tattoo or not?”
“I’ve reconsidered in light of you being a useless ratfuck of a person.”
His heart sank. They could banter back and forth all day, but if he couldn’t stick this landing and get her to meet with him, all his work and sacrifices would be for nothing. “What if the price goes up to twelve thousand?”
“This isn’t a negotiation, dickhead.”
“Really? Because it seems like you need money.”
“I don’t need anything. Least of all from you.”
But the brightness in her voice had dimmed, and he knew he had his hooks in the right place. “I’m serious. Twelve grand.”
“Hmm… What is the price of a human soul these days?”
“Thirteen,” he countered. “Come to my place whenever you want, and I’ll pay cash.”
