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“No, I’m fine.” He attempted to glare at me, but his eyes drifted a little. “And you can’t drive anyway. You’ve been drinking.”

“Nope. Had one beer before switching to water. I was planning on driving home.”

And I’d been planning to offer Rafe a ride anyway.

He snorted, leaning heavily into my side. “So for once, I’m the d-bag ruining your night?”

I chuckled. “Guess so, neighbour.”

Chapter Fifteen

Come and Get Me, Banshee Butcher

Rafe

I wasn’t sure which was going to kill me first—this hangover, or the embarrassment-fuelled hangxiety that came with it.

“Fuuuck,” I moaned pathetically as I finally dragged myself out of the bath sometime around midday.

I’d woken up in a panic, thinking I was late for work, before remembering that Holt had—god bless that flamboyant, money-hungry pirate—given me the day off. All I’d managed to do was stagger to the bathroom, run myself a bath while I scrubbed my teeth vigorously, then crawl into the tub face-first, sending water splashing everywhere.

I hadn’t moved until the water grew cold. Too busy questioning every decision I’d ever made in my life up until this point.

I remembered every excruciating detail from the bar.

The champagne. The ill-advised shot with Frank and Beans. The tit hat. Grinding my ass on a centaur called Brody. Doing the robot. Oh good god. I’d done the robot. In front of all my colleagues.

And then there was the worse part. The way, way worse part. The worst thing I could have ever possibly done.

I’d admitted to Ewen that I’d been watching him suck his own dick and had humped my fucking mattress thinking about it.

And I’d tried to kiss him.

And he’d pulled away.

Someone, please, come and put me out of my misery, I thought as I pulled on clean pyjamas pants, then I had to take a five-minute break curled up on my bed before I could muster enough energy to struggle into a hoodie.

I was as weak as a kitten. My stomach was shaky, my head was throbbing and I couldn’t stop picturing Ewen’s face—that pitying smile as he pulled back before I could kiss him.

“Nooo,” I moaned into my comforter, cocooning myself in it.

I’d have to move. Quit my job. Get a new identity. I should just go ahead and order myself a red squeaky nose, a big curly wig and one of those flowers that squirted water right now, because I was a fucking clown. Might as well make it my new profession and start getting paid to make a fool out of myself, seeing as I was evidently really fucking good at it.

I rolled over and stared up at the ceiling in misery. It’s fine, I told myself. I’ll just never leave my house again. I’ll tell Holt I can do my job remotely. He doesn’t know dick about computers—he admitted it himself. He’ll believe me.

I could just order everything online, and force my friends to always come here for game night, and I’d only let them in if they gave me the secret password. I could just pretend Dan Ewen didn’t exist, and that he definitely didn’t live right next door.

Exhaling an unsteady breath, I rolled over and fumbled for my phone on the nightstand. Opening up the group chat, I started typing, squinting at the too-bright screen. It was Monday, which meant game night, this week being held at Abed’s, but I already knew I wouldn’t be up for it later. I’d done enough peopling for an entire month. Or year.

Rafe (Terry the Accountant): Sorry guys, going to have to cancel tonight. Feel like shit.

Teresa replied a few seconds later.

Teresa (Simone the Warehouse Manager): Oh no, what’s wrong Rafeo?

Rafe (Terry the Accountant): Just hungover. Had to go out with work people last night.

Even though Neville was usually strict about staying off his phone while he was at work, he must have been keeping an eye on his texts today, because he instantly replied.