Chapter 66
Gen
‘So you were all at uni together?’ Anton asks as Zach takes a magnum and tops up everyone’s glasses. It’s a gorgeous evening out here, and the rosé is going down nicely. I’m not sure what the hell Cal thought he was playing at earlier, but he’s being nicer now.
‘Yep.’ Rafe holds out his glass for Zach. ‘The four of us lived together in our second and third years.’
I roll my eyes. The indiscretions will flow right alongside the wine; I can feel it.
‘Really?’ Anton purrs, his hand warm on my knee. His touch anchors me, as does the heat of his cotton-covered arm against my bare one. ‘Interesting. How was that?’
‘In a word, messy,’ I say. ‘They were pigs.’
‘She’s not wrong,’ Zach observes. ‘We were pretty revolting. That’s why it was great living with a girl.’
‘Yeah,’ Rafe says. ‘She was the only one who ever cleaned the bathroom, remember? Because it always bothered her long before it bothered us.’
I modify my earlier descriptor. ‘Sexist pigs.’ I shudder. ‘God, that bathroom was disgusting. It stank of damp, and they never washed their towels.’
The boys laugh while Belle twists in Rafe’s arms and looks at him in absolute horror. My friends have come a long way in terms of being civilised human beings.
‘There was a quid pro quo, though, to be fair,’ Cal says. ‘We spent a lot of time with wet sleeves from the amount of time you spent crying on our shoulders over boys. We even had to beat a few of them up for you.’
‘Christ, you always went for the tossers,’ Rafe groans, raking a hand through his hair and pulling Belle back against his side. ‘It was like your twat radar was always on high alert. If there was a guy who was a giant fucking twat, you’d be all over him.’
‘Some things never change, eh?’ Anton asks me softly, and I smile and nudge him with my shoulder.
‘You said it.’
‘Why’d you go for the twats?’ he asks. He sounds genuinely interested.
‘Ugh, I don’t know.’ I take a defeated drink of my wine. I really don’t like where this conversation is going.
‘To be fair,’ Zach says, ‘it wasn’t that she went for them.
They went for her. I’d argue she had a twat-attractor rather than a twat-radar.
And that was because she was so insanely beautiful—still is, obviously—so I think they saw her as some kind of trophy.
Like, the guy who went home with Genevieve Carew got major kudos in the locker room or at lectures the next day.
The nice guys stayed away because they assumed she was out of their league. ’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ I argue.
‘I’d say it’s pretty accurate,’ Cal says.
‘You thought I was a twat when you met me,’ Anton observes. It’s not a question. ‘Is that why you ran for the hills?’
‘Maybe,’ I muse. It’s more than a maybe, but I’m not entirely comfortable with this spontaneous group psychoanalysis session.
‘Once I got into the City, I got tough. No more dickheads. The whole environment was far too male centric, and I didn’t want to be seen as a target or not respected for my abilities. So I may have over-corrected.’
‘And the walls went up?’ he guesses.
I shrug. ‘Something like that.’
‘Quite right,’ Rafe says. ‘You’re amazing. You know we all adore you. It’s right that guys should work their arses off to earn your trust. You were too trusting at uni—you got burnt too many times.’
‘Plus they were all crap in bed,’ I point out. ‘Fucking rugby players. They never had to learn any skills when they were in a different girl’s bed every night.’
‘Oi,’ Cal says, and I laugh, because all three of them played rugby.
‘So that’s why the guys are a little over-protective,’ I tell Anton. ‘They’ve had to put plenty of guys before you through their paces.’
He puts his arm tightly around me and finds my ear with his mouth. ‘I’m very glad you made an exception to your no more dickheads rule for me,’ he whispers.