“Rob, babe, are you talking to yourself again?”Evan called out from the sitting room.
“Yes, it’s the only way to have an intelligent conversation.”
Evan’s roar of laughter made me smile.
Followed by his usual question: “Are you putting the kettle on?”
“I don’t think it’ll fit...”I said, picking up a stray sock.
Evan’s tea obsession was legend.He even took his own teabags on holiday.
“Babe, I don’t think you’re as funny as you think you are.”
“I made you laugh though, didn’t I?And even though I know you’re taking the piss, I’ll switch the kettle on and make you a cuppa.How’s that?”
“My hero.Oh, be still my beating heart.Your generosity knows no bounds.”
“Cheeky tosser!”I called out as I moved to fill the kettle.
“Wanker!And don’t forget the biscuits,” he shouted back, cackling.
Evan really was one in a million.Even though he loved to wind me up, he was the best friend I’d ever had.
Not that I’d tell him that.His ego was big enough already.
Stirring two mugs of tea, I grabbed the packet of Jammie Dodgers and tucked it under my arm.
“Here you go, sir.Tea and biscuits are served.”I held out his cup, then handed him his shortbread bickies.
“Ta, babes.So, tell me — what’s wrong?”
“Ugh.Nothing.Everything.Just second-guessing myself.”
“It’s only natural to question your decision.You’ve worked for them for a long time.”
“Yeah, but am I being a twat throwing away a well-paid job to write gay paranormal romance?Especially now, when Mum’s memory is taking a turn for the worse.”
“Robbie, it’ll never be the right time.Something will always come up.If not your mum, then Dave.When are you going to do something for you?”
Evan dunked his biscuit in his tea.I grimaced.I wasn’t a fan of soggy biscuits.
“What?Oh, you don’t know what you’re missing.The jam gets all gooey, and the tea makes the shortbread melt in your mouth.Go on, try it.”
“No thanks,” I said, trying to hold back my eye roll.
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”Evan’s smirk suggested he was no longer talking about biscuits.
“Or maybe you do.Have you tracked down that hottie your dad was Googling?”
This time I didn’t hide my eye roll or dramatic sigh.
I was already regretting telling him about what I’d found — both on Dad’s computer and in his bedside drawer.
But Ev loved mysteries.And with this one, he had a front-row seat.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to share that I’d found a memory stick full of erotic images of the same handsome mystery man — the one with eyes like twin pools of dark chocolate seduction, that called to me like a siren’s song.
His face and body flashed through my mind those eight times a day when men supposedly think about sex.
