“Two best friends in a pod.”
“Oh, fuck no,” he said, grinning. “I hated him at first.”
“No way.” I glanced up at him with a grin, the streetlights along the canal throwing half his face into soft shadow.
“Yep. He was a mouthy little fucker and always stole my Yu-Gi-Oh cards.”
I cackled. “What a douche.”
“Absolutely,” Bodhi smirked. “But then he got a PlayStation for Christmas, and I got to play it first.” He sighed as though disappointed. “Couldn’t stay mad after that.”
“Boys are so easy to please.”
He laughed and glanced at me. “What about you?” he asked.
I frowned. “What about me?”
“We never talked about this stuff in rehab. Tell me about your friends.”
“I, uh...” I twisted a strand of hair around my finger, heat creeping up my neck. “I’ve got Gloria—my roommate. The catlover. But she’s in her fifties, and since I’m paying rent, she kind of has to tolerate me.” I winced at how pathetic that sounded. “And there’s Sasha, but she’s in LA, so I barely see her anymore.”
I tipped my head back, letting the cool night air wash over me. The stars glimmered in a way I never saw through London’s smog, and I tried to count them, hoping the numbers might calm my racing heart.
“I always had someone to go out with. Before rehab, I mean.” The words spilled out in a rush, like they were escaping a locked cell. My brain begged me to shut the fuck up, but my mouth wasn’t cooperating. “There was always someone ready to party or fuck or whatever, but they weren’tfriends. Not the kind you call when a pipe bursts or you get hit by a car.”
I glanced sideways and caught Bodhi watching me. “So... yeah. Twenty-seven, and I’ve basically got no friends.” I forced a tight smile and let out a small, self-mocking laugh. “Pretty pathetic, right?”
Bodhi stopped walking so abruptly that I nearly stumbled. When he slipped his arm out of mine, my stomach dropped. Shit. Had I said too much? Dumped too much of my mess on him?
I opened my mouth to apologise, but then his hand found mine. He laced our fingers together and kept walking, tugging me gently along the cobbled street like nothing had happened.
“You do have someone, Iggy,” he said, his voice low and certain.
I peeked up through my lashes and found him looking back at me with a soft smile. One of those smiles he only ever seemed to save for me.
“You’ve got me.”
My throat tightened. “W-what?”
We wandered over the Red Light District’s threshold, the warm streetlights bleeding into crimson. On anyone else it would’ve looked menacing—demonic, even—but on Bodhi, the glow made him look like he did onstage. Powerful, striking... otherworldly.
“You’ve got me as long as you want me,” he murmured.
A small, helpless smile tugged at my mouth. “At least for the next twelve weeks.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “Let’s get through the tour, and then we’ll see what happens after.”
I squeezed his hand and leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. The spice-and-sandalwood scent of his aftershave filled my lungs, and the knot in my stomach finally loosened.
Eyes closed, I let out a slow, contented breath. Letting him guide me forward, I trusted he wouldn’t lead me anywhere I couldn’t follow.
“I’m glad I’ve got you, Just Bodhi.”
And I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I heard him whisper, soft as a secret, “Always, Iggy Pop.”
We ended up touring the Museum of Prostitution, which was... enlightening. I left wanting a pair of thigh-high leather boots and with a mental shopping list of sex toys to buy the minute I got back to London.
“I won’t lie,” I said as I dragged Bodhi across the road towards the Lebanese restaurant we’d picked for dinner. “If I had my own place, there’d absolutely be a circular bed, a heart-shaped bath, and a sex dungeon in the cellar.”
