‘Ah, shite,’ I hiss out under my breath, because there stands Beth, head to toe in pink, looking like Psycho Barbie’s older sister. The evening edition. And that would be bad enough, but over her shoulder appears another of the bunny-boiler clan. Blonde and posh. Heavy on the sense of entitlement. What was her name again? Selena? Serena? Didn’t she have the same name as a city, or was it something to do with Africa?
‘Savannah?’ Fin says quietly.
‘That was it!’ I exclaim, as the pair at the door gasp, then say my name in unison.
I tighten my grip on Fin’s waist. I might be screwed six ways from Sunday, but I’m not letting her go without a fight. Turning my head from the mental twins, I can’t make out the look on Fin’s lovely face. Her eyes are so blue they shine, though the way she has one eyebrow quirked makes my balls feel a little anxious. I resist stepping out of kneeing range, but her body isn’t actually tense. And is that... maybe the ghost of a smile? Hopefully, it’s not the vengeful kind.
‘Friends?’ Her tone is bland, but her question cryptic.
There were definitely benefits in the... connection with these two, but hand on heart, we were never friends. I shrug, because only a nutter would repeat what just went through my head.
‘What can I say?’ I shrug. I fucking shrug again! ‘I’m a friendly sort of man.’
‘Yeah,’ she agrees, her gaze slipping absently to the kitchen door and then back again. ‘But tell me, is there anyone at this party you haven’t actually screwed?’
My expression twists as, this time, my mouth runs ahead of my brain.
‘Does the prospective groom count?’
