Page 120 of For Real

I brushed my thumb over the sulky curve of his mouth. “You don’t suck, Toby. But if someone puts a hoop in front of you, the quickest way to get past it is through the middle.”

“Wow, you’re on their side. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

He sounded a little confused, and genuinely hurt. It had been such a long time since GCSEs had even remotely figured in my thinking that I hadn’t stopped for a moment to consider that they might still be important to Toby. I was about to apologise when Toby sat up.

“Can you hear…buzzing?”

I’d half convinced myself it was just in my head—a side effect of too much demanding sex—but no. It was my front doorbell. “Just ignore it, and whoever it is will go away.”

Whoever it was did not go away.

The buzzing went on and on and on. Someone was clearly leaning against the bell.

Fuck. I looked down at my thoroughly ravaged and still naked body, groaned, and tried to sit up.

“Wait.” Toby put a hand on my chest and kept me down. “I’m sorta dressed. I’ll deal with it.”

He gave me a quick kiss on the nose, scrambled off the table, and disappeared up the stairs. It was probably just a really zealous Jehovah’s Witness, but clothes were rapidly becoming a good idea. I sat up and swung myself onto the floor.

God. Maybe I was getting too old for this. Everything hurt, inside and out, and I was a mess of marks and semen and lemon curd. I must have struggled against the cuffs a little, because while they hadn’t bruised me seriously, they’d left me with a matching set of rough red bracelets. I stroked my thumb over my wrist and smiled. I was tired and wrecked, unable to even answer my own front door, and I was so very, very happy.

Though, as I eased myself painfully into my trousers, I was rather glad Toby wasn’t around to see this particular indignity.

“Uh, Laurie.” His voice drifted down the stairs.

“Yes?”

“It’s, um, your friends.”

Shit. Shit. Who? Why? I reached for my shirt and pulled it—wincing—over my shoulders. “I’m…I’m coming up.”

Grace and Sam and Toby were arranged in a tableaux of awkwardness in my hallway. I chose not to think about how I must have looked to them.

Grace stared for a while. Then stomped over and slapped me in the shoulder. “I was worried about you, you dick. Next time, answer your goddamn phone, and I won’t come barging over at what is blatantly a really bad time.”

“It’s okay,” offered Toby, unhelpfully. “We’d pretty much finished.”

Sam clapped a hand over his mouth, entirely failing to stifle his yelp of laughter.

Grace flicked a glance at Toby. “Don’t think being cute is going to stop me being cross with him.”

I sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call. Are you staying?”

“We’ve just hoofed it across London,” said Sam. “Course we’re fucking staying.”

Grace led the way into my living room, and while everybody was getting comfortable, I made the introductions.

Toby nodded. “I remember you from Pervocracy.”

“Believe me”—Grace smiled—“we remember you too.”

“Why were you worried about Laurie?”

“That’s not important,” I interrupted. “Does anybody want some tea?”

“Because you’d fucked off,” Grace explained. “He was in a state.”

“Really?” Toby hustled across the sofa and practically climbed into my lap. “Really really?”

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