So Hectic: Silver Daughters Ink, Book #3

Prologue

“How many people get to be awake and aware for the emergence of the person they were always meant to be? How many people get to have two lifetimes in one?”

Lindsay C. Gibson, Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents

“You can lead a horse to water, but they’re very hard to drown.”

Sam Simmons, Problems

Toby Tennant jolted awake and found himself lying face-down on the floor.

“Sorry, dude,” a woman whispered, all husky in his ear. “It’s closing time. And just like in the song, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. And while that was mostly a metaphor for fatherhood, this is very much about you getting the fuck out of here because you’re drooling on the floor.”

“Hmmghrffffff,” Toby moaned into the black and white tiling. The pattern was familiar but not immediately identifiable,.aAt least not while his head was a pounding vortex of hell. He closed his eyes, returning to blessed unconsciousness. A second later, he was dragged back into the over-bright, overheated floor world by a shake on the shoulder.

“Seriously, Tobes-me-mobes,” the voice purred. “Get up, you fuckin’ alcoholic. We’re gonna have clients here in a couple of hours.”

“Mnnngghhh…?”

Clients. Where was he that had clients? Had he finally gone to a brothel to get rid of his stupid, flapping-dead-albatross-around-his-neck virginity? Was he a client at a brothel?

The hand on his shoulder gripped harder. Toby finally peeled his gummy eyelids apart to see… the most beautiful woman in the world. Blue eyes. Blue hair. A perfect Playboy model rack in a tight black dress.

“Hola,” the woman said. “You’re having a rough one, huh, Toberson?”

Tabitha DaSilva. The living fairy. The apple of his eye—and that ofevery straight man who came across her. All the DaSilva sisters looked like they’d tumbled out of daffodils, but Tabby was by far the prettiest, most magnetic one. The minute he saw her, he was done. Blindsided. She was just so fucking electric. She was a 5G tower connecting and brightening everything faster and better.

He should have known it was her. Who else would find him on the floor when he looked like ten miles of back road?

He closed his eyes again. “This isn’t a brothel, is it?”

Tabby laughed. She had the best laugh. He’d watched people turn themselves inside out to get her to do it. Had done it himself a million times. God, he loved her. God, she was never going to sleep with him.

“Not a brothel, my guy. This is 408 Sydney Road. Also known as Silver Daughters Ink Tattoo Studio. Also known as my home. You arrived here at 8 p.m. last night for a party, and it is rapidly approaching 8 a.m. the next day.”

“Mmm,” Toby said, tasting floor. He remembered now. It had been Sam and Nicole DaSilva’s birthday party. The twins had set up a bar in their tattoo studio, and he and their boyfriends, Noah and Scott—and about a hundred other people—had stood around talking shit and drinking can after can of IPA.

“I should head home,” he’d told Scott. “You’re still my boss.”

“Not tonight, Toby,” Scott had said in his cut-glass English accent. “We could use another man on deck. Whatever happens, stay.”

“Yeah,” Noah agreed, clapping a vast, tattooed hand on his shoulder. “Stick around.”

Noah was an ex-biker and not someone you wanted to argue with, but Toby didn’t need much convincing. After all, Tabby was there. So, he’d stuck around. And he and the DaSilva boyfriends kept talking shit and taking shots and eventually racing cans until Toby was drunker than he’d been in ages, then years, then his whole life. He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to the studio floor but couldn’t imagine it was with dignity.

“Scott,” he mumbled. “I’m gonna get fired.”

“No way, dude. Scott yakked all over the doorstep, totally fucked up our ‘G’day cunt’ welcome mat. Sam was beside herself with rage.”

“Shit… Is he around?”

“You mean, on the floor? No, Tobes. That’s just you, mate.”

“Fair.” He gestured to his back pocket. “Can you please use my phone to get me a ride?”

“Sure. As long as you don’t mind me inadvertently touching your ass?”

My kingdom for you to touch my ass, Toby thought, and when Tabby laughed, he realised he’d said it out loud.

“Nooooo,” he moaned. “Ignore it. That. Me.”

“Will do, chief. What’s your passcode?”

“One… Four…?”

“I thought you were a numbers guy? Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” She shoved the screen into his face, which was apparently enough to unlock it because she began tapping away.

“You’re still in Hoppers Crossing, right?”

Toby nodded, his cheek squeaking across the linoleum. His hangover was setting in at a rapid rate, which wasn’t helpful because he had so much shit to do: Take Mopsy to the vet. Sell his parents’ house. Talk to Scott about a new job. So many fucking things.

Last night had been such a relief. He”d forgotten everything he had to do for the first time since his parents left for the Philippines. Getting drunk with Noah and Scott while the DaSilva girls danced nearby, he’d felt like part of the crew. The Silver Daughters family. But it was an illusion. He was just some guy with a blistering hangover, and while Noah and Scott were in committed relationships with the twins, he was still just panting after Tabby like a puppy dog. No, Tabby petted and played with puppy dogs. A rabid dumpster possum.

“Your Uber account is blocked,” Tabby announced.

“Eh?”

“You booked three cars and didn’t show up for any, so your account is el finito, bambino.”

The surge of sickening guilt was enough to get Toby to push his palms to the ground and stand. He was stiff as a board, his head spinning like a circus wheel.

Tabby blinked at him. Her aquamarine hair perfectly matched her round, cartoon eyes, and her full lips were painted scarlet even at this godawful hour. He’d spent his teens wanking to GIFs of hot anime girls, and even he couldn’t have dreamed up someone so pretty.

“You okay, Tobes?”

He struggled to focus on something that wasn’t her mouth. All he could think about was that red colour rubbing off all over his cock while she?—

“Dude.” Tabby grabbed his arm. “You’re gonna go timber, aren’t you?”

“Iunnnooowmaaybeeeeh?”

Tabby glanced around the studio. “Fuck it, Tobes. I got you. C’mere.” She put her arm around his waist and steered him toward the studio’s front door.

Wondering if she was about to push him behind some bins and leave him there, Toby decided he didn’t care. The sun was rising over Silver Daughters Ink Tattoo Studio, orange as a peel, and he closed his eyes and let Tabby guide him.

“What a night,” she said from somewhere near his middle. “Were you around when Nix and Noah started banging it out in his tattoo room?”

Toby struggled to focus. He had vague memories of him and Sam and Scott standing at the back of the studio, giggling about something. “Ah, I think so?”

“Surprised Noah could get one happening, he was so wasted. But then he and Nix are trying for that baby. I suppose you gotta take any opportunity.”

“Oh yeah,” Toby mumbled.

He knew he should be saying more, trying to make her laugh, but he couldn’t. He was too fucked up and felt way too needy. If he asked her about the music festival she was putting together, he’d end up saying, ‘Tabby, you look like Rei from Neon Genesis Evangelion with better tits, and I’m a huge fucking nerd, and I pull off to your Insta photos once a day. More if we’re hanging out. And I know everyone you hook up with is, like, Spider-Man or a millionaire fake DJ from Azerbaijan, but please fall in love with me. Please see me as a valid sexual choice for no reason?’

Tabby’s hand tightened around his waist. “We’ve reached the stairs, ole buddy, ole pal. You’re gonna have to open those baby blues.”

Toby obliged, blearily taking in the back entrance to the DaSilva house, which sat directly behind the studio. “We’re going to yours?”

“Yeah, mate. That okay?”

“Sure…” he said, dread rising in his throat. He’d been inside the DaSilva’s’ place before, but it was still rare enough to be terrifying. What if he threw up in their hallway? “Will your sisters mind?”

“Nah, they’re still in bed. Besides, they won’t see you.”

She meant they wouldn’t see him until they woke up in an hour or so and found him lying on their couch in his crusty party clothes. But whatever. Toby lurched up the stairs behind Tabby and when she unlocked the front door, the puppies he had rescued from his parents rushed around him like water. There was Scott and Sam’s dog, Morgan, Noah and Nicole’s pup, Lilah, and the other four whom Tabby had successfully talked her sisters into keeping. The half-cocker spaniels and half-rottweilers were huge now, with beautiful diamond-shaped heads and glossy black and gold fur.

As they jumped excitedly around him, his nausea mounted, and he bent his knees the minimum amount required to brush their soft heads with his fingertips. “Hey, doggos. Miss you guys. Mama misses you too.”

“Oh yeah, how is Mopsy?” Tabby asked, bending to pat the dogs far more effectively.

He felt a split second of terror, then remembered he’d left his parents’ ancient breeding spaniel with extra food, plenty of water and access to the backyard through the doggy door. Besides, Mopsy loved nothing more than being left alone to sleep all day. “She’s good,” he mumbled. “Hanging out.”

“Cool.” Tabby grabbed his hand again. “You want to eat?”

He shook his head, praying she’d lead him to the couch and let him crash. Instead, she steered him through the living room, full of driftwood sculptures and brightly coloured paintings, toward a part of the house he’d never been to.

“Tabby, what’s?—”

“Shhh,” she hissed. “Shut your whorish mouth. And walk lighter. Walk like you’re on a cloud in heaven, and every step might kill Jesus!”

Toby had no idea what that meant. The dogs were scrabbling all over the hardwood floors, and he could barely hear her. But he shut up and tried to lift his feet better, following her down the hallway, his overworked heart hammering against his ribcage. Surely, she wasn’t… Was she…?

Tabby paused in front of a door with a neon pink sign flashing, ‘Hot Slut.’

All the spit in Toby’s mouth evaporated. “Tabs…?”

“Cool, huh?” she said, pointing to the sign. “I made it out of old nightclub stuff from Gumtree.”

She pulled a silver chain from around her neck and unlocked the old-fashioned keyhole. Nudging the dogs out of the way, she opened the door a crack, and Toby saw a dark four-poster bed and a ceiling mobile that looked like it had been made out of tin foil and pipe cleaners.

“You can’t… you want me to stay in your room?” he asked, head swimming worse than ever.

“For a few hours,” she whispered, shoving him inside. “But stay quiet, okay? I’m not allowed to have guys in here after Joel sleepwalked into Sam’s room and pissed all over her wardrobe and childhood drawings and passport.”

“Shit, but I’m not here as a guy, right? We’re just friends.”

“You’re still a drunk dude.” Tabby sighed. “Poor Sam, no one has any respect for her belongings.”

Toby staggered in, trying to take in as many details as possible, as fast as possible. If this was his one chance to be in Tabby’s bedroom, he wanted to remember everything. The gremlin figurines. The piles of books and underwear. The old-fashioned perfume bottles on the dresser with the poofy squeeze things on the end...

“Friendly assist!” Tabby pushed his chest, sending him sprawling back onto her bed. “Go to sleep, dude. You need it.”

Toby moaned. The cool of her silk sheets felt like heaven on his overheated skin. “But my shoes… my belt?”

“Who cares?”

And who did care? Too happy and in too much pain to overanalyse, he toed off his knockoff R.M. Williams boots and lay face down on Tabby’s bed. It smelled like her: blue roses, indigo sunsets, pools of sapphires in moonlight…

There was a scraping sound, and the room was plunged into darkness. Lo-fi music began to play from somewhere, and he wondered if Tabby was getting changed for work. Tugging off her tight dress, pulling on clean underwear... A hot throb ran down his body, and he felt himself get hard. Disgusted, he screwed his eyes shut. He wasn’t that guy. Would rather hang than be that guy.

“Tobes?” Tabby whispered.

“Mmmfff?”

“Can I sleep too? I’m super tired.”

His heart kickstarted at the thought of them sleeping side-by-side. “I… yeah. Don’t you have work?”

“Nah, just Sam and Noah.”

“Do you want me to get up? Sleep on the floor?”

“Don’t be stupid; there’s enough room for both of us.”

Toby buried his head in a pillow so she couldn’t see his face and find him out. He was fully hard now. No matter what happened, he wasn’t going to turn over.

The bed sagged as Tabby climbed aboard. She was right; it was big enough that they weren’t touching, but another hot pulse ran down his spine and into his balls. He swallowed, wishing he could shower or at least brush his teeth.

“Toby?” Tabby whispered. “Did you have fun tonight? Last night?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

“Kind of. What’s your secret?”

His overwrought stomach turned over. “Huh?” he said, playing dumb. What the hell had he said to her?

“Your secret,” Tabby repeated. “You said you had a secret, and you really wanted to tell me, but you weren’t allowed.”

Nausea rose like a tide in Toby’s throat. A year back, he’d overheard Noah talking to Tabby’s dad on the phone. Edgar DaSilva had been AWOL for ages, and no one in the family had any idea where he was, except, as it turned out, Noah. And now him. Mercifully, he was still ears-deep in pillow, and Tabby couldn’t see the naked anxiety on his face.

“Toby?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Oh, that secret,” he bluffed, trying to buy time. “Yeah, I don’t… I don’t think I should go there...”

“Is it about how your parents joined that cult in the Philippines and left you all alone to sell their house so they can funnel the profits to some guy in wayfarers and a tie-dye t-shirt who thinks he’s Jesus?”

God, what the fuck even was this morning?

“No,” he said, his head throbbing like an open wound. “It’s not about that. And my parents aren’t in a cult. It’s a… grassroots religious movement.”

Next second, he could have kicked himself. Why hadn’t he said the secret was that? How many people’s parents abandoned them to join a… well, it wasn’t a cult. It was a grassroots religious movement.

Tabby’s hand brushed his arm, sending blue sparks up his skin. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a dick about your parents joining a cult.”

“No one could be a bigger dick about my parents than my parents,” he mumbled. “And it’s not a cult, it’s a… grassroots religious movement.”

Tabby giggled quietly. “Sure. So if that’s not your big secret, what is?”

Fuck you, drunk Toby. Fuck you with a chainsaw.

He racked his brain for something, anything, he could tell her instead of Noah being in contact with her dad, but Tabby was absently stroking his arm in a way that made his drunken dick pulse against his leg.

He’d read something on Reddit that said mating instincts were so strong you could have sex even when you were mortally wounded. He hadn’t believed it at the time, but it felt pretty accurate now.

“I’ll tell you a secret about me,” Tabby said softly. “I had kind of a bad time last night.”

Toby recalled her whirling on the dance floor, drink in hand, her blue hair flying. “Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but lately, it’s like, ‘How much more of this do I have to endure?’”

“What are you enduring?”

“I dunno. Being here, I guess?”

Toby shoved aside his fears about his breath or that she’d look too closely at his mangled face and turned to face her. “If you’re depressed, you need help.”

She smiled, her eyes enormous in the semi-darkness. “I’m already seeing a therapist, but thanks. And I promise I’m not going to hurt myself or anything. I just feel a bit… I dunno… pointless right now.”

He stared at the shadows partially covering her face. For as long as he’d known Tabitha DaSilva, she’d been literally and figuratively untouchable. She was good at being cool the way other people were good at crossword puzzles, but she was good at crossword puzzles, too. Whip-smart, endlessly energetic, hilarious and fucking beautiful. She had a huge Instagram following, and clothing brands always asked her to pose in their stuff. He’d once heard Nicole moan that if she wasn’t covered in tattoos, Tabby could have signed with a modelling agency and been a huge name.

“You have an ingenue face!” Nicole said, practically spitting with envy. “An ingenue face and perfect measurements! Do you know how rare that is!? Now you’re all covered in ink, you’ll never work for Chanel or Dior or Alexander McQueen. It’s such a waste!”

“Fuck being a model,” Tabby had said. “I heard the dressmakers stick pins in you on purpose because they wanna be the ones wearing the clothes. And you have to eat baby food!”

Thinking about that conversation still made Toby laugh.

“Tabs,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “You’re amazing. You’re the last thing from pointless, you’re… pointful.”

Tabby giggled.

Toby couldn’t believe he’d voluntarily touched her, but there was still enough alcohol clanging around his system to keep him holding her hand. “What’s got you thinking like this? Has something changed?”

“No. That’s kind of the reason I’m down.”

“You want to change?”

“Yes. No. Maybe? I dunno. I’m not as young as I used to be, but I don’t seem to get any more organised or responsible.”

“You’re twenty-five.”

“So? Time’s an illusion.”

It was a typical Tabby-ism, philosophically valid without being meaningfully accurate. The kind of thing you could argue about forever and never come to any conclusions. As far as Toby could tell, this was always Tabby’s plan whenever someone told her something she didn’t want to hear—derail them from their point with metaphysical cul-de-sacs, avoiding vulnerability at all costs.

“In some ways,” he said. “But in many, much realer ways, time isn’t an illusion and you’re young and you’ve got ages to get organised about life.”

Tabby rolled her eyes. “You’re just being nice. That was why my dad left, to give us girls a chance to grow up, and now it’s been like, two years and Sam and Nix are saving money and having relationships and trying to make babies, and I just keep twatting around, waiting to become more than I am.”

“Why do you need to be more than you are? You’re already perfect.”

Tabby squeezed his hand. “Toby Tennant, why I never…”

Holy shit, that was the most romantic thing he’d ever said to anyone, and he’d just said it to Tabby. “Sorry. I don’t… ignore that.”

“No.” Tabby pulled their joined hands to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. “Thanks for being such a sweetheart.”

Toby caught fire—his neck, face, chest, everything went blazing hot. He met Tabby’s blue gaze and wanted to hold it but couldn’t. Scared she could feel his temperature rise, he eased his hand from hers. “What about your music festival? Aren’t you working on that?”

She perked right up. “Yeah, Conor and I have a few bands lined up now. Plus, we’ve come up with a name. ‘Sparkling Whine.’ Isn’t that funny?”

Toby smiled obligingly, but really, he was thinking about how Tabby and Conor had hooked up a while back and how, despite Conor’s new girlfriend, they continued to hang out and plan Prosecco-based music festivals together.

“Conor thinks I should go back to uni and get an event management degree,” Tabby said. “But fuck that. How hard is it to call up a venue and book it ten months in advance? Besides, I don’t want to be a full-time festival guy. Too much ‘hurry up and wait’ crap.”

“So why not just keep tattooing? You’re great at it, and what you’re working on changes every day.”

“The pictures,” Tabby protested. “Not the actual work. Maybe I’m just not meant to have a career. Maybe I should give up on having a job and lean into being some rich guy’s fuckdoll. I think I’d be good at that.”

Toby almost swallowed his dehydrated tongue. “Huh?”

“Being a sugar baby,” Tabby said, rolling onto her back. “You know, sucking dudes off for handbags and what have you?”

“I…”

“I mean, it’s not, like, just sucking guys off for handbags. Maybe I’ll go monogamous and do the old-school wife thing. You know, bake bread, massage shoulders, come to fancy work events and swan around making the man look good. Guys like that, right?”

Toby couldn’t talk, but that didn’t seem to matter.

“The problem is, where do you meet a rich dude who wants a nice, respectable fuckdoll? All the guys I know don’t have two cents to rub together. I don’t either, but right now, I’m sucking them off for zero handbags, and you’ve gotta think there are better options out there… Especially when I’m bringing big titties and home-cooked meals to the table.” She glanced over at him. “You okay, Tobes? Is your alcohol-soaked vision narrowing into a single, blurry point of light?”

“N-no,” Toby sputtered, his head crammed with contradictory thoughts. “I’m fine. I… You can cook?”

“Really well. I’m good at cleaning too. Nix just never lets me ‘’cause she’s all OCD about that shit being done her way. Yeah, I should just bail on civilised society and give myself to some dude. Who cares, y’know?”

Toby squinted at her. She was obviously trying to be funny, but he didn’t get the sense she was lying. “You’d be okay letting a guy pay for everything?”

“Hey, all’s fair in love and late-stage capitalism. The last guy I was seeing bought me this.”

She pinched the hem of her black dress.

“I mean, but that’s just one outfit,” Toby said, jealousy spiking through him like poison.

“It’s also Mugler, my guy. It cost three grand.”

Toby’s forehead contracted like a concertina. “Fuck!”

“I know.” Tabby flashed him a guilty smile. “But he offered, and I do like nice things.”

Toby bit back more four-letter words. He was doing okay money-wise, but he was only an executive assistant. Years away from keeping Tabby in designer clothes—if he ever got there at all.

“Are you, like, disgusted by me or something?” Tabby asked.

“God, no.” He tried to scrape the horrified look off his face. “I, uh, just thought you said you didn’t know any rich guys?”

“Ahh, Grato moved back to Canada, and fuck, going to live there and freezing my tits off all the time.” Tabby heaved a long sigh. “Anyway, now you know my deepest, darkest secret. Ready to tell me yours?”

Toby swallowed. She wasn’t going to stop asking. And he couldn’t lie. She was sharp. She knew when people were lying better than most. The thing was, he did have a secret good enough to put her off the ‘Edgar talking to Noah’ scent, but he didn’t want to use it. Especially now he knew she wanted nothing more than to be some other dude’s sugar baby.

“Toberson?” Tabby’s hand found his, cool fingers weaving through his burning ones. “You can trust me, you know?”

He didn’t know, especially when it came to a secret as embarrassing as his. But what other options did he have? He swallowed, gathering the last of his drunk courage. “The secret is I’m, uh… I’ve never slept with anyone. Before. Or at all.”

“Oh…” there was a stunned silence. “So, you’re a?—”

“Yes,” he interrupted. If she actually said the word ‘virgin’ to him, he’d die, just expire all over her pillows.

“Hmm,” Tabby said thoughtfully. “Is this because of your childhood extreme-o-Christian stuff?”

Toby’s insides writhed.

This is better than her knowing you”re hiding her missing dad from her, he reminded himself. Get on with it.

“Pretty much. And my first girlfriend turned out to be a lesbian, so we never… got anywhere.”

“Yeah, you don’t really look like Kristen Stewart. But you’re super cute, Tobes. Tall. Square jaw. Nice eyes. Plenty of girls would.”

Toby forced another smile. It was a compliment, but it was hard not to focus on the part where ‘plenty of girls’ clearly didn’t include ‘Tabitha DaSilva.’ He might be tall with the beginnings of a six-pack, but Tabby had never looked at him with one ounce of the lust he’d seen in her eyes whenever anyone brought up Cillian Murphy. And she probably never would. Unless he won the lotto and could make the sugar daddy thing happen…

“Don’t you work with a bunch of chick money molls?” Tabby asked.

“You mean female finance officers?”

“Sure. Why don’t you date them?”

Because I’m in love with you.“I dunno.”

Tabby stared at him, waiting for more information.

“They’re usually married. And I feel awkward around them most of the time. All girls, really.”

“Seriously? You’re fine around me. But I’m probably, like, the exact opposite of your type,” Tabby said, slaying him without the slightest awareness. “What about dating apps? Surely you can find some, like, P.E. teacher or coffee bean consultant to co-own a Ford Fiesta with?”

Toby was beginning to think he’d have a brain haemorrhage before the morning was over. “Where… Why do you think you’re not my type?”

“Dude, you don’t have to be nice to me just because I told you I’m having an existential crisis. Seriously though, do you want me to help you make a dating profile? I did one for my mate Davs, and she gets mad dick now.”

“I don’t… Did you say I should go out with a P.E. teacher? And buy a Ford Fiesta?”

“You could always go with a Nissan?”

Toby stared at her. “You think I’m that fucking boring?”

She laughed. “Do you… not aspire to own a mid-sized sedan?”

Time seemed to blur as the truth hit Toby like a flying missile. No, he didn’t aspire to have a mid-sized car, a mid-sized love, or a mid-sized life. He aspired to come home in a cherry red Aston Martin to his waterfront apartment and find Tabby naked in his bed, begging for another round.

But how the fuck would she know that?

How would anyone?

He’d heard of paradigm shifts before, but this was the first time he’d felt one. A new lens clapped over his vision of the future, permanently changing his perspective. His hangover vanished, dissolved in a tide of new energy. He was, really and truly, done waiting. He could do it. Become that guy. Why not? What had this conversation in Tabby’s bed proven except that he had nothing to lose?

“Tobias…?” Tabby sounded worried. “What’s on your mind?”

Still lost in thought, he followed her lead, rolling onto his back. He put his hands behind his head, closed his eyes, and continued to watch his future unspool. “Lots of things. Mostly that my name isn’t Tobias...”

“Sorry.”

“… and that I aspire to a lot of things. None of which I’m going to tell you.”

“Tease. Why not?”

“Because it’s private.”

“More secrets?” Tabby mused. “Is it about what you like? Sexually? Is it fucked up? Is it piss?”

Toby felt his lip curl into a smile. Were they flirting? “No.”

“So, you don’t want to be with someone boring?”

“Nope.”

“Then who?”

A year ago, a week, ten minutes earlier, he would have been terrified; now, for no fucking reason except for that blinding moment, he was ready. More than ready. He looked into Tabby’s vast blue eyes and willingly approached the precipice. “A complete psycho who can suck a golf ball through a garden hose and ruins my life.”

She laughed. “And wherever will you find someone like that?”

“No idea. It’ll be for keeps, though.”

Tabby’s hand returned to his forearm, but it didn’t feel like a friendly gesture this time. “So, seeing as you have no idea, why don’t you borrow one of mine? Before you traverse the globe for this mysterious freak, you should get some experience under your belt.”

Toby fought to keep a straight face. She might mean setting him up with someone or going over his dating profile or?—

Her hand tiptoed along his arm and up to his bicep. “Do you want to…? With me?”

The world seemed to stop spinning. “Do I want to what, Tabitha DaSilva?”

“Lose something fairly imaginary, by literal standards, with me?”

It was getting harder to hold onto his calm, but he did his best. “Come again?”

Tabby’s sexy little smile grew wider. “Do you want to fuck me? Right now?”

Two forces tore through him, so powerful he was surprised they didn’t rip him apart.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

No.

She would be his first… But that wasn’t how he’d win Tabby’s heart—her doing him a favour. Helping him get some ‘experience.’

“Need more motivation?” Tabby whispered, and before he could ask what she meant, she kissed him. Her lips were warm and sugar-sweet, blotting out his thoughts in a way that alcohol could only envy. She pulled away, and though her bedroom shutters were still closed, sunshine was streaming all around him.

“Jesus, Tabby...”

“Yeah,” she said, touching her mouth. “You sure you’re a virgin?”

“I’ll be honest, Tabs. I have kissed someone before.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully at him. “Jealous…”

Toby ducked his head. He couldn’t believe this, he’d actually kissed the girl of his dreams. Done something he’d fantasised about for years. With a surge of confidence, he did something else he’d only ever imagined and cupped the back of her head, feeling her soft blue hair against his palm. She smiled at him and leaned in for another kiss. He was about to comply when he remembered his breath and slammed his free hand over his mouth.

“Tabs, this is… it’s like the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but I’m housing like fifty beers right now; I need to shower and brush my teeth.”

Tabby laughed merrily, the way he’d heard a million times before.

“Don’t worry, I can fix this.” She jumped up, grabbed a tin from her desk and scrambled back onto the bed. She shoved two minty pellets into his mouth and dashed away again. “I’ll go check no one’s in the shower. Chew fast.”

***

The sun was once again rising over Silver Daughters Ink Tattoo Studio, and Tabby was watching Toby Tennant sleep. She’d always wondered why people did that in movies, but now she got it. It was so fascinating to see someone you’d fucked in such a state of peaceful vulnerability. Especially when, twenty minutes ago, they’d been pounding into you, one hand around your throat, the other pulling at your nipple as they vowed not to stop until you came all over their dick.

Toby Tennant, the shy, awkward finance guy, was such a horny freak.

She’d kept him in her room for the past twenty-four hours like a big, secret pet who also fucked her brains out. Sam and Nix were so mad at her for refusing to help clean up after the party that they were probably going to murder her, but what was she supposed to do? Stop banging Toby? Let this beautiful, ridiculous experience end? The depression haze of her last couple of months had lifted, and she felt all shiny, new and excited.

It was a miracle. An absolute horny miracle.

The only time they’d considered getting up was when Toby had remembered Mopsy and her physical well-being. But then he’d called his neighbour to check in on her. The guy, who owed Toby a favour for mowing his lawn, had agreed to feed and walk her, so it was back to the sheets.

They’d been at it for hours, sustaining themselves on cans of Coke and bags of almonds stolen from the fridge when no one was looking.

The whole thing had been chaotic and inconvenient, but as anyone who’d ever partied knew—you didn’t always choose the sesh. Sometimes the sesh chose you.

Toby made a soft sleeping sound, and after checking for invisible spectators, Tabby brushed a lock of caramel hair out of his eyes. He was a little younger than her—twenty-four—but he looked older. Or maybe it just felt that way now that he’d railed the life out of her.

She’d always liked Scott’s assistant and dog provider. He was a great friend and a total sweetheart, but this was just so unexpected.

She’d told him so many things while they’d been encamped in her room. Bared her soul to him the way she never did with anyone these days. And he’d responded by making her come, like, four billion times while he called her ‘Tabitha’ in this low, raspy way that still made sexy shivers go down her spine.

Before they’d slept together, she’d been curious about the way Toby would be in bed and turned on at the thought of taking another dude’s virginity. It had been years since she’d played cherry sniper, and she knew this would probably be the last time—unless she ran into a Steve Carell situation in the future. But aside from Toby’s shaking hands and awestruck gaze, it hadn’t felt like taking someone’s virginity at all. There was no fumbling, no failed erections, no premature ejaculation. The sex had started good and then caught fire. Quickly—like ten minutes in—Toby was the one pushing her. Pinning her down and pulling her hair, and moving her body like she was his sex doll, which was her favourite way to fuck.

“Arch your back,” he said, sliding deep.

“Bounce your ass on me.”

“Faster.”

“Slower.”

“Say my name while you come.”

Tabby hadn’t been so blindsided by sex since her first boyfriend got her to orgasm. Toby had pushed her for hours, way past the breaking point. One minute, he was all, ‘I’m in charge.’ The next, he was face-deep in her pussy, moaning about how soft it was. It had been so hot she’d done something she hardly ever did and opened door number three for him.

So now, not only was Toby not a virgin, he had his…

Someone needed to think of a better phrase for ‘brown wings’ because that was fucking gross. Anal crown? No, that implied spikes in and around her asshole. She’d have to work on that one. Either way, it had been a wild fucking ride. Toby was an absolute beast in the sack. But then, some people just had it. Like being able to shoot hoops, or spell ‘xylophone,’ or draw an accurate horse.

“Good for you, Tobes,” Tabby whispered, brushing more hair across his forehead. He had really nice hair, thick and shiny. If he were a girl, it would probably go down to his elbows and be the envy of all.

“Mfffff,” he moaned, sounding so much like when she’d found him face down on the floor, Tabby grinned.

“Almost time to get up, bud. Real life’s calling.”

“Fuck…”

They both knew it was coming. She had to work today, and so did Toby. But they could do it again. Meet up and fuck. She could go to his parents’ old house and put sheets over all the flayed Jesus paraphernalia and screw Toby senseless without worrying Noah would burst in with a baseball bat and bludgeon everyone to death. They could laugh and talk above a whisper and order Chinese food and listen to music, and hang out…

She felt a faint squirm of fear. She’d been so honest with him. But that was okay, wasn’t it? Toby was a good guy. They could make this work. After all, that was the best part of having mates you slept with—all the pleasure with none of the pain of a relationship. And who knew? Maybe one day she”d be at his wedding to some Mimco bag-owning basic bitch, and she”d mention how Toby had reamed all her holes, ad nauseum.

Or not. It might be considered rude. Maybe she could let it slip at his bachelor party…

“Tabs…” her new lover mumbled. “What’s the time?”

Her heart gave an unexpected sputter, like something struggling to go down a drain. “Ahhhh, almost seven thirty?”

“Fuck,” Toby said again. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Okay,” Tabby whispered and then, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she took his hand. “Let’s be friends forever, okay? Promise?”

Toby sat up and, despite his earlier statement, grasped greedily at her. They spent the next fifteen minutes having one for the road, and Tabby didn’t realise until much later that he had never answered the question, much less promised.