Page 73 of Something Borrowed

“Fair point.”

“As is the fact that no one is ready for a clone of you. The world’s noise level would be deafening.”

His head is down, one finger stroking the edge of the sticky notes pad, and I have a sudden flash of him when we came home from the club last night. We’d come perilously close to shagging in the stairwell, and we’d barely got through the door before clothes came off, and he fucked me on the floor. It had been well worth the telling off about noise from Mrs Flynn in the upstairs flat.

I smile at him. “You weren’t saying that last night. Mrs Flynn says she’s reporting us to animal control.”

“What? Why? Hump wasn’t being noisy while we were out, was he?”

“No, but apparently, our cats were yowling and kept her awake.”

“What cats?Oh!” A flush spreads across his cheeks, but I frown when he doesn’t joke or say anything else.

“What’s up?”

He scratches the back of his neck. Then he takes a deep breath, and his head comes up. I automatically brace, but his next words still leave me reeling.

“Do you remember that bloke at the guide dog charity event last weekend? He made the biggest bid of the night.”

I bite my lip. “The one who chatted to you for ages?”

Stan would usually have been standing with me, but lately, a funny distance has sprung up between us. Our bodies might be closer than they ever have been, but it feels like he’s moving further away, and whatever I do, I can’t grab him.

“That’s the one. Bennett.”

He pauses, and my eyes narrow. “What about him?”

“Erm.” He hesitates, and then his next words come out in a rush. “He rang and asked me out.”

I stare at him, unable to break the awkward silence filling the room, mainly because I’m lost for words.

“Raff?” he finally asks.

“You gave him your number?” I whisper.

“Yeah.” He licks his lips. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

There’s something in his tone that I can’t quite parse. It’s almost like he’s asking me a question silently, but I can’t think of the right answer because I suddenly feel sick.

“What do you think, Raff?”

I think it’s the worst idea ever. I think my stomach is churning, and it feels like the end of my world is approaching. I think you should tell him to throw away your number and come to bed with me and stay there forever.

The thoughts pass quickly through my brain, visceral in their clarity and need, but I don’t say any of them. How can I? The truth is that this was always going to happen. It was inevitable that Stan would back out of this casual arrangement we have as soon as someone better appeared on the horizon. Someone who isn’t chained into a single life by their childhood. I have nothing to offer him beyond friendship. And his happiness has been my main concern since the day I met him.

“Raff?”

“Is he nice?” My voice is hoarse, and he cocks his head, his expression concentrated.

“Erm, probably,” he says almost hesitantly. “He seemed very interested anyway.”

“Of course he did,” I say bitterly and then shake myself. Stop being selfish, I berate myself. “I think—" I stop and clear my throat. “I think you should go for it then, Stan.”

His head comes up, and an expression passes quickly over his face that I can’t understand. He almost looks devastated. Then it passes, and he says in a wooden tone of voice, “You would be okay with that?”

No.

“Yes, of course, babe.” I’m proud of the evenness of my voice. “We always said we’d do this until—” I stop suddenly, unable to complete the words. My eyes feel hot, like I might cry.

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