“I can’t be sick or Mac will murder me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because we have to play at that awards ceremony tomorrow night,” she reminded me.
I brushed the hair out of her eyes with care. Evie and I were close, and she’d always held a little piece of my heart. “You leave Mac to me, sweetheart. I’ll charm her into a good mood.”
She managed a weak nod. “Hey, you’re still coming to our barbecue tomorrow aren’t you?”
Jared’s face lost all colour when he saw me walking off the field with Evie in my arms.
“Sure,” I murmured before he reached us. “I’ll be there.”
Kicking the front door of my loft shut with my foot, I tossed my wallet, phone, and keys on the kitchen counter. Next to that I set a bright yellow plastic bag with the well-known lettering, Naughty But Nice, printed gaily on the side in flowing, pink letters. Thank you very much, sex store, for your casual approach to discretion. There was nothing more liberating than shouting to the members of the public that you were a big, fat pervert.
My business partner and roommate, Coby, sauntered out of the second bedroom in nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs, hair mussed and scratching idly at his chest.
The loft we shared was a converted warehouse slash revolving bachelor pad. The ceilings were high with exposed red brick lining the wall of the open kitchen, living and dining area. Neither of us were cooks, so the stainless steel appliances, marble bench tops and saucepan racks were entirely wasted, but the huge outdoor deck with slight views of Sydney Harbour made it a valuable investment.
The space was owned originally by Jared and Travis, but I bought Jared’s share when he and Evie bought a house in Bondi; Jared was the only one who didn’t think the house should’ve been condemned by the local council. His intention had been for them to live in it while undertaking the renovations, but a year after completion something went wrong every other week. Last week, it was blocked pipes. Jared blamed it on Evie’s long hair clogging the drains but after spending an entire day digging up the front yard, he found a collapsed section of pipe out near the road. That made it a council issue, and there was more likelihood of God stopping by their house for a beer than the council venturing out to fix it. The week before that it was five exploding outlets in two days, the last one almost setting Jared’s laptop on fire. The only advice I could offer was to either cut their losses and move or take out better life insurance.
Then it was Travis’s turn, only he was marginally smarter. Travis and Quinn lived in Coby’s house while they did their renovations and Coby moved into the loft with me. Six months later, their Manly Vale house was beautifully restored and they moved in. Then Travis had the gardens and lawn dug up before finding out it was easier getting a ticket to the moon than getting someone out to do their retaining wall. Combine that with three weeks of torrential rain and their entire yard was now a mud pit, and not the good kind that featured naked women wrestling.
Considering the revolving bachelor pad status of our loft, Coby would be up soon. I smirked as he wandered into the kitchen.
“You’re next.”
He paused, eyebrows going up. “For what?”
“True love, Disney-style.”
“Fuck that,” he muttered, running a hand over the tufts of messy brown hair sticking up on his head. “I only just got Evie married off. She’s Jared’s problem now. Let me enjoy the moment for a good couple of years at least.” He continued towards the fridge. “Besides, if the curse on this loft is anything to go by, you’re the one that’s up next.”
I winced. “Yeah, that’s not funny. Speaking of not funny… How did you get out of paintball today when I got called out, mid-sex, like it was a life or death operation?”
Coby shrugged, opening up the fridge door. “You brought someone home last night?” he said to the barren shelves.
“Just some girl,” I said casually with the words that were somehow becoming my new mantra. Coby would also pitch a shit fit if he knew it was Morgan.
He dangled a beer over his shoulder that I didn’t really want but took anyway. Getting his own beer, Coby shut the door and turned. With the simultaneous grace of ballet, we both twisted off the tops and flicked the caps towards the vicinity of the sink. Lips poised to take a sip, Coby’s eyes fell on the pansy-ass yellow bag and froze. He looked from it, to me. “Just some girl, huh?”
Whipping out his phone from nowhere, Coby snapped a photo of the bag and started tapping like his fingers were on fire.
“What are you doing?”