Page 138 of B is for Beg

I don’t blame him for being surprised.

Blake:It was Gabe’s idea.

Corey:Are you sure you want to?

I hesitate before replying. The easy answer is no, but it would also be the cowardly answer.

Blake:No. But I’m going to anyway. Things won’t ever get any better between us if we don’t communicate.

Archie:I hope it goes well.

Corey:You’ll be celebrating. I’m sure they’ll be happy for you.

Call me a pessimist, but I’m not.

Archie:I need to get back to work. My new boss doesn’t let me slack off like my old one did.

Blake:How is the new job?

Archie:Fantastic.

Blake:That’s great.

Corey:Things are less crazy at school. Year eleven have gone on study leave, and we’re all winding down for the summer holiday.

Archie:Look at us. Happy, successful, and loved up.

Corey:I thought you had to go back to work?

Archie:I do. We should celebrate too. Dinner at mine tomorrow night?

Blake:That would be amazing.

Archie:Great. See you both at six?

Corey:We’ll be there.

Archie:Bring your partners, obviously.

Blake:Obviously.

I check the time. Mum and Dad will still be at work, so there’s no point calling them. Instead, I send a message to them both.

Blake:Would you like to come over for dinner tonight to meet Calvin and Gabe and see our new place? Seven o’clock.

I add our address and then stuff my phone into my pocket. I’ll do my best to clear my head on the way home, so I’m calm when I read the contract through. I’d like to know for sure one way or another whether I’m going to sign before my parents arrive.Ifthey accept my invitation, of course.

* * *

By six thirty, Gabe, Calvin, and I have read the contract over twice. As nothing was mentioned about tattoos in the contract, I get Justin to double-check it will be okay for me to get one, and even send him the design Calvin’s tattoo artist has come up with for us. I have a reply within half an hour that Tucked love the tattoo. I sign the contract electronically and return it to Justin. It’s official. I’m going to be the face of Tucked for twelve months.

Gabe is busy cooking, and although I offered to help, he won’t let either Calvin or me near the kitchen. Instead, I’m snuggled up with Sir on the sofa, waiting for my parents to arrive. In typical fashion for my parents, they turn up at twenty to seven, and they bring a couple of bottles of wine with them.

Calvin and I answer the door together. He stands behind me, his hand on my hip as Mum and Dad offer us tentative smiles.

“We weren’t sure what would be best for the meal,” Dad says, stepping inside. “So we brought a bottle of each.”

“Red will be perfect,” Gabe says, wiping his hands on a tea towel. He stands close enough to me that our shoulders are touching and holds a hand out to my parents. “I’m Gabe.”