Page 7 of You Float My Boat

I knew it.

‘Of course we can, my little hangry bestie,’ I grinned, and we took off down the path leading to the dining hall.

‘Thank you,’ she replied, relaxing against me. ‘Hey, have you heard any more from Charlie?’

I shook my head, trying to contain a little of the disappointment that made my belly ache any time I thought about Charlie Masterson and his proposal. Okay, a lot of it. ‘Nope.’

‘Do you think he’s changed his mind on the whole fake girlfriend thing?’

‘I dunno,’ I shrugged.

It had been a week and I hadn’t heard a peep.

‘I’m sure you will.’

‘Term has started. He would have already texted me, surely?’ I kept my tone as casual as possible and not likeI’d been thinking of any and all scenarios in my head as to why I hadn’t heard from him since he walked me back to St Anne’s.

‘He’s a guy – who knows what they think?’

That was a very valid point.

‘Probably for the best he hasn’t. It’s not really part of the whole plan I had to move on from him,’ I sighed.

I’d been doing so well.

It had been eighteen months since I’d last seen Charlie Masterson, and my heart had been lulled into a false sense of security that I was over him. I’d gotten through the first term without so much as a hint of a relapse. I’d mostly avoided my brother and his friends altogether. Even on my illicit trips to use his bathtub, I never once peeked into Charlie’s bedroom, no matter how much I wanted to.

But the first hurdle came crashing down around me when Hugo gave Charlie my phone number.

(Without my permission I might add, not to mention forewarning.)

I’d successfully not replied to any of his strange little messages over Christmas even though my fingers twitched every time I looked at my phone. At first I’d assumed it was some kind of weird joke or – more likely – my brother up to something. It was only when Hugo intervened and requested I reply to Charlie that I relented. I wish I’d pushed a little more onwhyCharlie wanted to see me, but I was too busy trying to ignore the way my insides were bubbling around and tying themselves in knots.

‘You’ll get there again. You went a whole monthin Australia without talking about Charlie when you hooked up with that surfer Brad.’

A wide smile curled my lips at the memory, and I hugged Stella tighter as a particularly cold gust of air hit us. I certainly missed the sunshine.

Surfer Brad was not to be confused with bartender Brad, who Stella spent a lot of nights with during the Gold Coast section of our gap year travelling around the Southern Hemisphere. He could have been the youngest Hemsworth brother – or at least a close cousin.

The Gold Coast was the one and only time in my life when I’d successfully got up before sunrise, because Brad would take me onto the water to watch the yolky orange sun burst through the horizon and set the ocean alight. Even though I’d yawned through most of it, I’d loved every second, and found myself completely swept away with the magic of living a life on the beach.

But, like all good things must, it came to an end when Stella and I moved on to South America, and surfer Brad morphed into polo player Gabriel.

Charlie Masterson, however, was not the same as a month-long romance with someone I’d never see again.

Charlie Masterson was my long-term crush.

Charlie Masterson had owned my heart since I was fourteen, and it would take more than a fling for it to switch allegiances.

Since I’d pushed open the doors to the pub and seen Charlie sitting by the fire, it was clear my crush had merely been dormant. The second I’d laid eyes on him my little heart fluttered in excitement at the familiarity.I’d tried to remain nonchalant. I’d summoned all the calm I had in my arsenal, and just like Beyoncé had once done, I channelled my inner Sasha Fierce. My as-yet-unnamed alter ego. My inner award-winning actress.

If I do say so myself, I’d done a damn fine job at it. Ishouldhave won an award.

Eighteen months had passed yet it could have been yesterday for all that had changed about him. Unless you counted a thick coating of stubble on a previously smooth face, a broader chest, thicker shoulders and more heavily defined muscles. His hair was still the same light brown with the little cowlick at the side that never seemed to flatten, still the same bright green eyes always brimming with mischief, and a slightly crooked, bemused smile he’d never realized made my heart beat double-time.

But then his plan had been laid out, and I almost broke.

Rushing to the loo, I stood in front of the mirror with my alter-ego staring back. Even she had misgivings as to why I’d just agreed to possibly the worst idea in history. What did I think I was doing?

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