Page 49 of The F*ck-It List

“Oh, come on, that was good!” He grins madly.

I can’t help but laugh a little, feeling lighter after talking to Eli. “I’m not like her ex,” I say, just finding excuses now.

“What, the boring dick pic sender? I should hope not,” Eli smirks.

“I mean I don’t look like him.”

He looks at me, confused for a moment until realisation dawns and he gives me a frustrated glare. “Because you don’t have abs?”

“Ihaveabs,” I say, feeling insulted even though it was the exact point I was making. “They’re just well insulated.”

“Okay,” Eli says on a sigh. “I’m only going to say this once and then we’re going to move on like it never happened, you ready?”

“Okay,” I say cautiously.

He levels me with a serious stare, one hand coming to my shoulder and squeezing lightly. “You, August Zelig, are hot. Solid 8.5 out of 10. If you were into dudes, I would totally want to bone you.” He pats my arm and smiles.

“Who says you’d be boning me?” I raise a brow at him.

He turns back in his seat, shaking his head and looking comically scared. “Oh, I’ve seen what you’re packing, no way you’re coming at my arse with that thing.”

I laugh, shoving at him, which he retaliates, and we end up wrestling until I have him in a headlock rubbing my knuckles over his chestnut hair.

“Get off, you overgrown ape.” He tickles my sides, which makes me shriek and we pull apart, panting and grinning. “I love ya,” he says.

“Love you too.” I mumble the words because they never come easy to me, but I know how important they are to Eli.

“And you deserve to be happy, August.” He turns serious and maybe a little sad, which pulls at my under plucked heartstrings. “You should be with someone who makes you happy.”

I dip my head to catch his eye again when he looks down to his leg crooked up on the couch cushion between us. “Hey.” He looks at me. “Same goes for you, you know that, right?”

He plasters on a fake smile and straightens his shoulders. “Of course, I’m a catch.”

“Yeah, you are,” I agree and slap his leg. “Alright, let’s get you kicking my butt at Call of Duty over and done with.”

This isn’t a date. Like I’ve already said, I wouldn’t be spending time with my parents on a date. This is Quiz Night. Did I decide on a cleanand ironed shirt rather than my usual t-shirt? Maybe. Are these my best jeans that I’ve never worn on a job so have no paint or sawdust on them? Sure. Did I actually shave so the thick stubble is gone? Stop asking annoying questions. This is not a date.

I’m just knocking on Bea’s door to remind her it’s Quiz Night, in case she’d forgotten. That’s all. I tug at my dark blue shirt so it’s not quite so tightly tucked into my belted jeans and swipe up my forearms so both my rolled shirtsleeves sit above my elbows. Not a date. Despite what my racing heart and fluttering belly are trying to tell me.

I knock on the door and wait. I can hear Bea’s voice as she approaches, like maybe she’s talking on the phone. When she opens the door, her eyes go wide at seeing me on the other side, and I take her moment of surprise to drink her in. She’s in another pretty summer dress, this one a lilac colour with straps that tie at the back of her neck and a low neckline dipping temptingly between her breasts. The white strappy shoes she has on have a little height to them and her hair is loose and wavy around her shoulders.

“August,” she breathes, still surprised by my presence. I can’t say I blame her as I ghosted her for three days after she rubbed off on me and I nutted in my jeans like I was fifteen years old.

“He there?” A bodyless voice sounds out and I notice the phone in Bea’s hand, held out in front of her like she’s still on a video call.

“Hi,” I say to Bea, letting my smile creep up on one side, apologies I need to voice out loud in my eyes.

“Hey, August,” the voice I recognise as Cas’s calls out of the speaker on the phone. “Congrats on bringing the dry hump back, man. Honestly, solid job.”

“Oh Jesus,” Bea, hisses, her cheeks taking on a delightful pink glow. Then, when any normal person would probably have just ended the call, Bea just flings her phone toward the couch in her living room in a panic, like that will stop me from hearing Cas on the other end. Except, of course, it doesn’t. A point proven when we both stand there staring at each other as Cas’s voice projects.

“I’m flyiiiiing!”

Bea’s eyes close on a slow blink, like she’s just realised throwing her phone wasn’t the best course of action, and I can’t help my smile broadening. I can’t exactly be mad Bea told her best friend about what happened, I did the same thing. And after I walked out of here, I’m sure she had some feelings about it all. But her obvious embarrassment in this moment is kind of adorable.

“I thought we could walk to the pub together,” I say, saving her from whatever is going on in her head.

“Oh,” her brows jump and a pleased smile graces her pink lips. “Sure. Um, I should probably grab my phone.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder.