CHAPTER 8 #2
The days blurred into one another.
I had one week left to go.
Freedom felt closer with each passing day — daunting, yet liberating.
No more timesheets. No more being at Hew’s beck and call. No more oppressive corporate culture.
Fuck. Was it too late to change my mind?
Was I seriously thinking of doing a U-turn?
Or was I just having a freak-out and getting cold feet?
Is this what they mean when they say people become institutionalised?
Surely, I was too young for that.
Since I got back from the office, I lost myself in thought, muttering to myself as I stuffed another load of washing into the machine.
“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.
They say it’s eight, but I’m not sure that’s true.
I never used to think about sex at all, let alone every day.
Now? It’s like I can’t think of anything else.
Is this what it’s like for Evan? Should I ask him?
“What? I can see the cogs grinding in your head. I’m amazed smoke’s not coming out of your ears.”
“Thanks, mate. You know how to make me feel valued.”
“Well, you make a bloody good cuppa, so I need to keep you sweet. But stop stalling. It’s time to dish the dirt.”
Groan.
“Fine. I did a reverse image search and found his website.”
“Oh, you bitch — and you didn’t share! What the hell, Robbie? I thought we were friends. How could you keep such things from me?”
Evan dramatically waved a Jammie Dodger around before eating it, glaring at me the whole time.
His good looks and charming personality meant he never had trouble finding boyfriends. At the moment, he was taking time for self-care and personal growth.
While bugging the shit out of me about my recent paternal revelations.
“Why are you just sitting there instead of fetching your laptop and showing me what you found?”
Just like that, any chance of keeping Mr Fantasy to myself evaporated.
Resigned to the fact that it was now show and tell time, I headed to my room to get my machine.
While trying my hardest to stamp down on my feeling of annoyance.
When I returned, Evan was sprawled across the sofa like he owned it, a mug of tea in one hand, Jammie Dodger in the other. A mischievous glimmer in his eyes
“Right then, show me this mystery man. I want abs, a smoulder, and at least one eyebrow raise that says, ‘I know you’re watching.’”
I hesitated, laptop balanced on my knees, fingers hovering over the trackpad.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Robbie, babe, you’ve been obsessing for days. I’ve seen you stare into space like you’re composing sonnets about his jawline. It’s time to share with the class.”
I sighed and clicked the link.
Ashton’s homepage loaded — sleek, dark, and unapologetically sexy. His face filled the screen, all olive skin, and bedroom eyes. Evan let out a low whistle.
“Well, fuck me gently with a feather. Your dad had taste.”
“Ev...”
“No, seriously. If this guy walked past me in the street, I’d trip over my own libido.”
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
Evan leaned in, scanning the thumbnails. “So, what’s the deal? Is he a cam guy, model, porn star, or all three?”
“Cam guy, mostly. But there’s a blog. And a contact form.”
Evan’s eyes lit up. “Ooh, let’s message him! Say you’re a fan. Or better yet, say you’re the son of his former admirer and you’re trying to piece together a mystery. Like a sexy version of Who Do You Think You Are.”
“No way. That’s...too much.”
“Fine. But at least bookmark the page. And don’t pretend you haven’t already.”
I didn’t answer. Just sipped my tea and stared at Ashton’s photo — the way his mouth curved, the way his gaze seemed to reach through the screen.
Evan stood up, stretching. “I’m grabbing the last of the biscuits. Don’t do anything scandalous while I’m gone.”
As soon as he left the room, I clicked the contact tab.
My heart thudded.
The form was simple. Name. Email. Message.
I hesitated. Then typed:
I stared at the words. Hovered over send.
Then clicked.
A strange warmth spread through me — part adrenaline, part relief.
I didn’t tell Evan.
Not because I didn’t trust him.
But because I wanted to keep this moment for myself.
Just for now.
Just until I knew what it meant.