Page 86 of A Very Happy Easter

“I tried to explain that, but Spencer told me to fuck off and took a swing.”

“Ohmigosh, are you okay?”

“I ducked, and his fist connected with one of the officers instead.”

“Is it wrong that I want to laugh?”

“We’ve gone through that stage.” Heath hiccuped loudly. “Now we’re wondering how long we can jutis…justify leaving the prick in a cell for without Polly getting upset.”

“Polly’s currently crying into her cocktail, trying to work out how to ditch him without losing the followers on their joint social media account.”

“Can’t she just change the password?”

“That’s exactly what Rebecca said. I guess now Polly will have a day or two to think about it, so that’s good.”

“Righto—shall I tell William to cancel the lawyer?”

“I thought he and Spencer were pals?”

“William only puts up with him because Constance is friends with Polly. Nobody likes the guy.”

“Maybe everyone could just cool off overnight and revisit this in the morning. You know, when we’re sober?”

“Sounds like a plan. You gonna break the news to Polly?”

“Wish me luck.” I paused for a moment. “Have you had much to drink?”

“A few beers. If you want me to pick you up, I can get a cab.”

“We can meet at the hotel?”

“John and Drummond are playing pool with the strippers, so we’ll probably leave when they’re done.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you soon.”

And I couldn’t deny I was apprehensive. Heath had never been drunk around me before, but I could hear the slurring in his voice. Like Spencer and Neil, so many men turned into monsters after “a few beers,” and I sincerely hoped he wasn’t one of them.

I needn’t have worried. Heath took three tries to unlock the front door, then staggered up the stairs, kissed me on the forehead, folded his trousers and T-shirt neatly on a chair, burped, and fell into bed. Usually, he kept his shirt on at night, but I wasn’t going to complain about his bare chest. Or that he finally tucked an arm around me when I rested my head on his shoulder. Eis always said that drinking didn’t change who you were, it just exaggerated the parts you usually kept hidden. Neil attacked women. Spencer punched people. Heath fiddled with my hair and told me I looked pretty.

And as he snored softly beside me, I wept a little, both with sadness and relief. Relief that he was exactly the man I’d hoped. Sadness that I wanted more, I wanted everything, but I wasn’t sure he felt the same way. Even drunk, Heath hadn’t made a single dirty move. He confused me. Left me with more questions than answers. He was like the ultimate gay best friend, except I didn’t think he was gay. He’d have told me, right? We told each other everything.

Almost everything.

Should I tell him how I felt? Risk the best friendship I’d ever had by pushing for more?

What if he didn’t feel the same? What if I wrecked what we had? He’d agreed to fake-date me for a year, and if he ended the agreement early, he’d break my freaking heart.

Or worse, what if he agreed to try, and my intimacy issues reared their ugly heads and wrecked my dreams?

Day was upon us when banging on the door made me jump. Heath finally opened his eyes, looking first confused and then horrified as he realised he had a thumb hooked inside my knicker elastic.

“Fuck. Shit, I’m sorry, babe. Edie. Edie, not babe. Fuck, I drank too much last night.”

“You want to stay here while I get the door?”

“What? No. No way. You stay here, and I’ll get the door. Hell, where’s my shirt?”

I pointed to the chair by the window and giggled. “You’re a very tidy drunk.”