Tig carries on regardless. ‘I was too young at the time, but Yan told me he caught you creeping out of the garage floating on air because Leo had just rocked your world.’
Oh, shit.
The sour taste of acid fills my mouth.
My pulse races, but I’m helpless to do anything.
Only one other person knows what happened in those heated minutes. And unfortunately, he’s right here.
The boy I kissed in the garage that night wasn’t Leo.
It was Mark.
Chapter 27
Fifteen years ago
I think it’s Jack who lets me in. Or maybe his name is Jake. Yan goes through a lot of boyfriends.
‘Yan, your gorgeous sister is here,’ he shouts above the din of people and music.
It’s useless. I doubt the person three feet from him can hear, never mind Yan, wherever he is. How have the neighbours not complained about the music? They can’t all be Donna Summer fans.
I smile at Jack/Jake. ‘Hiya,’ I say, hoping he won’t notice I don’t remember his name.
‘Love what you’ve done with your hair.’ He gives me a hug and points towards the back of the house. ‘Yan was in the kitchen last I saw him.’
There are so many people at this party that squeezing my way through will be a struggle. I say people, but, in fact, it’s mainly men – all groomed, toned, and stylish. In any other circumstances, I might have felt intimidated, but if they’re Yan’s mates, they’re most likely all gay.
Eventually, I find the kitchen – and Yan – and hand over the bottle of Cyprus brandy I’ve brought for him.
‘Thanks, Nell,’ he says, admiring it. ‘Nightmare getting this stuff over here.’ He puts it safely away in the back of a cabinet so drunk partygoers don’t find it.
‘Leo not coming?’ he asks.
‘He’s tired.’
I only got back from Cyprus earlier today, and I haven’t called Leo yet, so I don’t know this for a fact, but it’s a good bet heistired. The holiday has energised me and there was no way I would miss Yan’s party. Why hide away when I could be showing off my post-holiday glow? My hair falls in soft waves thanks to four weeks away from London’s hard water, and my tan is at that perfect stage where I don’t need to wear make-up, just a touch of mascara and clear lip gloss. Plus, I’m still in out-every-night mode and feel confident enough to wear a short, white dress with a plunging neckline and not feel self-conscious or worried that it’s slutty – even though it sort of is.
Any admiring looks I get will be directed either at my high-heeled gladiator sandals or charm bracelet, which looks extra shiny against my suntanned skin.
I make my way to the table and pour myself a drink. Red wine from a box into a plastic cup.Oh, Yan, you stingy git. Never change.
Yan gets pulled away by someone, and I head to the living room to see who I know. A tall man is standing stiffly in the corner, his back to the room as he studies a bookcase. His dark hair is buzz-cut short and he’s wearing a black T-shirt that stretches deliciously across his shoulders; it’s so snug, I can make out the outline of the individual muscles on his back.
There are so few people here standing by themselves that I feel sorry for him. As I move towards him, he turns round.
Mark?
I stop short.
It’s been more than a year since I last saw him. He’s been doing his military service in Cyprus. He looks both broader and leaner. His cheeks have hollowed, and he’s got a dusting of stubble across his jaw that makes the whites of his eyes pop.
But even while I make these micro assessments, I can’t miss the way he looks me up and down.
Like he’s starving, and I’m dinner.
I’m half tempted to flee just to get away from his wolfish gaze, but the fact he doesn’t recognise me actually pisses me off. He never used to give me the time of day at school, yet here Mark stands, oblivious, enjoying a mild rush of blood to the dick.
