Page 49 of Best Wrong Thing

“Umm…it’s early, but I’m pretty sure that Leeds isn’t on the way to Thailand if you’re travelling from Hong Kong.”

He laughs. “It’s Mum’s birthday, so I thought I should show my face. Are you free for lunch?”

“Sure. Twelve thirty?”

“Usual haunt?”

“Sounds good.”

“See you then.”

I end the call and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes. My alarm won’t go off for another half an hour, but thanks to Rex, I’m wide awake.

Will Archer be jogging along the canal towpath? I imagine him in a tight-fitting top and even tighter shorts. He has thick thighs I’d love to get wrapped up in. I shiver at the thought of him straddling me, his powerful thighs squeezing me as he rides my cock. We’d cuddle and talk afterwards. I’d stroke hissweaty back and kiss his damp brow, and he’d ask me random questions. Is it okay that I enjoy the tender moments we share as much as the sex?

Not that we’ll be able to have either on this stupid holiday. I’d hoped the branch manager would give me a reason not to go by denying me the holiday time—it is short notice—but no one else was off, so she approved my request. I don’t want to go, but refusing will make me look churlish. How am I going to cope with pretending Archer and I are barely on friendly terms for two weeks? How am I going to cope with not being able to touch or kiss him?

I don’t want to think about the stupid holiday, so I fill my head with fun, sexy things.

I get up, have a leisurely shower where I ramp up the steam by stroking my cock to thoughts of Archer, have breakfast, and head to work. I’m early, but so is my manager. We chat over coffee and then set the branch up for the day. People come and go, and the morning flies by.

Before I know it, I’m walking into the greasy spoon cafe where we always meet, the one where Rex and I used to hang out after school. We did homework here, revised for our exams here, and said goodbye here when he got his first overseas gig. It will be a tragedy if it ever closes.

Rex is waiting for me at our usual table in the back corner. He grins and waves. He’s tanned and dressed for warmer weather.

“I ordered your usual. Mary will bring it over soon,” he says as I join him.

We’ve been on first-name terms with Mary, the owner, for years.

“I’m sorry about your parents, and, wow, your dad worked fast. Was the ink even dry on the divorce papers?”

I shrug. It wasn’t his fault they got divorced or that Dad married Molly.

“Are you okay?”

“As okay as I can be. It’s pretty raw.”

“I bet. Is your mum okay?”

I suck in a breath. “She’s bitter.”

“Understandable. You seem to be coping. I’d be a fucking mess.”

“You’re not too old for me to tell you off for cussing,” Mary says as she approaches with a tray bearing our food and drink.

Rex laughs. “We kind of are.”

“So? Have you forgotten your manners while you’ve been doing all that travelling?” She puts a full English breakfast and a mug of steaming black coffee in front of each of us.

“No, ma’am.”

“Don’t be cheeky.”

Rex salutes.

Mary rolls her eyes and leaves to serve other customers.

“I’ve missed a lot, haven’t I?” Rex cuts into the egg yolk, spilling the bright yellow liquid over his plate. He dips the corner of a triangle of toast into it.