Page 16 of Something Borrowed

Raff huffs. “This is what tequila and bad choices look like, my friend.”

I cock my head. “Didn’t you have the Hollis wedding today?”

“Yeah, probably best not to mention that again. I have the hangover from hell at the moment, and in the future, I can look forward to a rather caustic session with Jed.”

“That man can get caustic with me anytime.” Kem’s voice is lecherous.

“After five minutes, the causticity turns into simply being dreadfully opinionated,” Raff says sourly.

“What happened? You didn’t come home last night.” I immediately want to pull the words back. They’re way too sharp. “I mean, you like to be home before a wedding.”

For all his lightness, joie de vivre, and casual attitude, Raff is actually laser-focused on his job and takes it very seriously.

There’s a long pause, and then he says, “Yeah, well, things happen.” His voice sounds flat and off, and I wonder what’s wrong.

“I bet they do, you dirty hound,” Kem observes.

Footsteps sound, and Raff says, “Lottie, you got me a coffee. Bless you.”

“If I’d done that, it would mean I’d have been given foresight. And if that were the case, I would use it for something useful like knowing there was a flash sale today in Stella McCartney’s shop. So I’d have been there rather than serving your hungover arse coffee.”

“Ouch, harsh.” The laughter is back in his voice. “But I’m more deserving of your attention than Stella’s clothes. I give joy, and you’re my sister.”

“I am not. I’d have a lot more grey hairs if that were the case, and my brothers did enough of a number on my hair colour as it is.”

She says something to Kem, and I feel someone come closer.

“You, okay?” Raff asks low. “You sound off.”

As off as someone who lay next to his boyfriend last night torturing himself, wondering who Raff was with and if this would be the one who’d finally make him change all his life decisions? That’s how pathetic I am—in love with my best friend who will never know if I have anything to do with it.

“Stan?” Raff says, and the worry is now clear in his voice. For all his casualness, there’s a strong knightly streak in Raff. He’s always trying to solve our friends’ problems and spent most of our teenage years charging after me and coming to the rescue. He hates not being able to help.

I shake my head, feeling ashamed of myself for worrying him. It’s not his fault I imprinted on him like a particularly stupid duckling and have never managed to shake it.

“I’m fine,” I say, and I can almost feel him relax.

Taking in a much-needed breath, I inhale the familiar scent of his Initio cologne. It’s a spicy, sweet blend of tobacco, vanilla, and rum, and its warmth is very Rafferty. For someone who’s like a butterfly with his beauty products, moving from one to another and never looking back, he’s remarkably loyal to his fragrance choices.

I feel his hand on my head brushing my hair back and push into the touch of those long elegant fingers.

He chuckles, and the lazy sound kindles a fire in my belly. “All these curls,” he says, his voice hazy and affectionate. His fingers dig into the tense muscles on my neck, and I make an involuntary sound of pleasure, sparks fizzing at the base of my spine. His fingers tighten for a second, and then I can feel his body still, and his hand falls away.

I sigh and make myself smile. “My hair needs cutting. I’ll ask Leo if he can fit me in.”

“That’s—” He stops and clears his throat. “That’s good, Stan.” His voice is slightly hoarse.

“What are you two talking about?” my sister asks.

“Stan’s hair. He’s going for a trim.”

“Leo will need a whip and a chair to getthatunder control.”

Raff laughs. “Where’s Wolfie? Off running the country?”

“In my office writing his thesis on blindness,” I say.

“Is he eating my chocolate buttons?” he asks, sounding way too panicked about sweets for a twenty-six-year-old man.

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