“Arden.” He paused, took a deep breath. “Your sex life is your own. We’ve discovered that we have very different viewpoints on sex. I just wish you made better decisions for yourself.”
“I make perfectly good decisions. It’s not like I intend for them to keep blowing up in my face.”
“Maybe I’ve been a bit too casual over the years. But you, you’re not like that. Everything leaves a mark on you.”
He didn’t need to act like he knew me. Or cared. “I’ve had my share of poor choices that ended up being perfectly enjoyable. I haven’t shattered at them.” I said.
“Right,” he said firmly. He put his hand into a karate chop shape and began tapping the dashboard as he laid out his points. “But I want you to look after yourself. You’re a good-looking guy. People are going to be drawn to you, and some of them aren’t going to have your best interests at heart.”
I scoffed. “I’m average looking.”
He stared at me – for several seconds. “Eyes on the road, please. You’re doing seventy-five,” I said.
He made a choking sound. After a few seconds, he shook his head. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea, do you?” He shook his head again. “You’re not faking it? All this time, I thought you were playing coy and innocent.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Arden,” he said, in a tone of voice that made me think this was physically painful for him. “Why do you think men are constantly throwing themselves at you?”
He stopped talking. There was a silence for several seconds, where I tried to work out whether he was pulling my leg or not. Oh my God, he wasn’t.
My reaction was instinctive: I laughed. Oh, how I laughed. I kept laughing. Several minutes later, I was still laughing. Clutching-at-my-sides laughing. “You cannot be serious.”
He shrugged. “You are the best-looking person I’ve ever slept with. I’ve seen some of the men Tarquin hooked up with – he’s had models and dated Eurotrash party boys. You are better looking than them. Guy isn’t exactly a slouch either; he’s had a couple of boyfriends I’ve met over the years who were real head-turners, and yet, he couldn’t wait five minutes to ask you out.”
I made small stuttering noises. “I’m … okay looking,” I said eventually.
“I’m not trying to give you an ego. Actually, maybe you could use it. Your self-esteem needs some work.”
I was silent for a few minutes, watching the countryside go past. I knew I was okay looking … my mother used to tell me I was her Angel-Faced boy. But I was the baby of the family, so of course she would tell me how cute I was.
Loads of men had leered at me in bars. But … huh. Maybe.
I rubbed at a speck of dirt on the window. After a few more minutes, I spoke again. “Did you tell Riz we slept together?”
Simon looked at me and then shook his head. “No, he … Well, I think he worked it out. He must have put the timeline together in his head and gave me a look when you came to Honningtons that night.”
I nodded.
“Do you regret sleeping with me?” I asked in a small voice.
“No, not at all,” he said. “It was fun, and we both needed it.” There was a long, pregnant pause. “I’m sorry that it got in the way of us becoming friends.” He paused again. “I’m sorry thatIlet it get in the way of us becoming friends.”
I nodded. Simon had no idea that I’d fancied – or still fancied, maybe – him. That I’d been desperately hurt he hadn’t wanted to see me again or have anything more from me. The information that Simon thought I was good-looking was churning in my gut. However, it seemed like his good opinion was mirrored by an equal feeling that I was a bit unstable and vacant. And that I invited too many men into my bed. ‘I wish you made better decisions.’ Hardly a ringing endorsement.
We were quiet again as the countryside whizzed past. It was blazing hot outside, and Simon turned the air con inthe car up high, which made conversation harder over the noise.
But I tried, my anxiety gnawing at me. “Do you really think Ollie will be able to help?”
Simon shrugged.
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” I said. “You think I know what I’m doing, but I have no idea.”
He rolled his eyes. “Now you tell me.”
“Simon, I’m being serious, there’s a good chance this is a weird coincidence. Don’t build up your hopes; we’re not going to walk into Ollie’s office and he’ll go,Oh, of course, the man with the smoking gun who was in here two weeks ago. Yes, his name is Bob and here’s his address and phone number.”
“Yes, of course I fucking know,” he snapped. “I’m not an idiot.”
