Page 13 of Cream & Sugar
Looking like a lumberjack these days, Shauny boy. Lucky lady Lara(15 weeks ago)
They’re all like this. All except one.
Please delete(2 weeks ago)
This comment is from an account called @larabanana. I tap the link and the profile of the auburn-haired, biker-jacketed woman in the photo pops up. Her name is Lara Newton. According to her bio, she’s “a free spirit with an unquenchable wanderlust.”
Ew.
The next line reads, “Travelling our world with @bigvig. Current location:” and then there’s an emoji of a flag I don’t recognise.
I scroll down and suddenly all is clear.
Lara has hundreds of posts, gorgeous photos taken in all sorts of exotic locations, but all the recent ones have something in common: the guy sharing the frame with her. While he looks a lotlike Shaun and, one might even say, slightly more conventionally attractive, he very much isn’t Shaun. He’s “Bigvig.”
His profile tells me his name’s Viggo Jones and he’s a “six-foot-something spirit guide, son of mother nature and sweetheart to @larabanana.”
While I shed my hangover hours ago, fresh nausea roils in my stomach as I scroll through Viggo’s profile. Lara and I might agree on physical type, but that’s about it. While he legitimately has some of the biggest pecs I have ever seen—and is clearly not shy about getting them out for the world to see—this guy is clearly a colossal knobhead.
For all the beautiful nature pics he’s posted, there isn’t a single one that doesn’t feature him front and centre doing some ridiculous pose that’s clearly designed to look candid but in fact just makes him look like a twat. Even the captions entertain the lie that these pictures were spontaneous accidents and not cherry-picked from dozens of different snaps. “Caught bathing in Andaman sunsets by @larabanana,” says one. “Just a spirit guide at one with nature,” says another. Viggo’s coyly tilted jaw and soft gazes don’t fool me, but it seems I’m the only one. With each photo’s likes sitting somewhere in the low thousands, his followers clearly lap it up like hot shit off the pavement.
Bigvig grins stupidly at me from one of the few selfies he’s posted of him and Lara. His eyes are glazed, like there isn’t a thought in his brain. Or maybe I’m underestimating him. Bigvig could be having a complex internal debate on something incredibly intellectual, like Einstein’s theory of relativity or at what point in the toasting cycle does bread cease to be bread. I doubt it though; he looks thick as mince.
To be fair, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed. I would one hundred percent sleep with this man, but I wouldn’t feel good about it after. And, in the morning I wouldn’t give him the fancy cereal forbreakfast, not that he looks like he’d go anywhere near a bowl of Crunchy Nut.
I put my phone down, surprised at how much venom Bigvig has triggered in me. Thanks to my internet sleuthing, the pieces of the puzzle are starting to fall into place.
Please delete.
Now the comment makes sense. It seems Lara’s moved on, but methinks Mister Shaunthecoffeeguy might still be hung up on his ex. Why else hasn’t he deleted the picture like she asked? Any chance he didn’t see the notification? Is anyone who says they “didn’t see the notification” ever telling the truth?
More importantly, does this mean he’s single after all?
Oh, the possibilities…
The crunch of shoes up the garden path is followed by a clunk of metal as Rory puts his key in the unlocked door.
“It’s open!” I call and Rory lumbers his way inside.
He’s in his gym kit which is about three sizes too small for his Dorito-shaped torso. In one hand he’s holding a bottle of strawberry protein shake. The bright pink perfectly matches his sweaty face, fresh from a lunchtime workout.
He slings his bag down by the shoe rack and acknowledges me with a grunt.
“You’re back early,” I say.
Rory takes a swig from his shake. “I’m working from home this afternoon. I have client calls in half an hour, so I’ll need the living room.”
“That’s cool,” I say, not budging from the sofa.
Rory looks me up and down. “Surprised you’re not packed yet.”
I shrug. “You said if I got a job I could stay.”
“And yet you’re still here.”
Clambering onto my knees, I puff out my chest like a majestic lion. “Because, as of an hour ago, your little Fredster’s employed.”
Rory scoffs. “Bullshit.”
