Page 37 of Topped

But, at the same time, the idea of Rupert being held hostage in a life he didn’t want made me uncomfortable.

I wanted him to be happy, the same as I wanted for everyone else I liked.

“Milo.” Alfie’s hand on my shoulder made me jump and I turned to see him smiling softly at me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. We were all saying that, after we’ve cleaned up, we should go to the pub. Celebrate a bit. Since we survived our first summer.”

“We did more than survive,” Owen said. He had his arms around Darcy and was grinning. “We smashed it! It was awesome!”

“It was awesome,” I agreed. “And slightly traumatic. But what’s life without a little trauma?”

“What trauma?” Darcy asked, although he looked like he regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth.

I grinned as I held up my hand, ready to start recounting things on my fingers. “Where would you like me to start, Mister ‘faked a UTI to avoid telling us about his soaring blood pressure’?”

Alfie chuckled and I turned to him with a smirk. “You also go on the list, Mister ‘refuses to ask for help when drowning in feelings and stress and nearly throws away the best thing that’s ever happened to him’.”

“Er, in which case, you go on the list for letting me be kidnapped,” Alfie said, poking me in the ribs.

“No, it was for your own good. You pissed off the bunny mafia and I was not getting involved. I value my life, thank you very much.”

Alfie sighed but didn’t argue, because he knew I was right. Unfortunately, I let my smugness distract me for a second too long and I missed the tiny teasing lilt to his smile before he said, “You can at least go on the list for everything that happened with Rupert. Like it or not, your behaviour definitely traumatised us.”

“Seconded,” Darcy said. “I had nightmares about waking up to police complaints about you.”

“You did not,” I scoffed.

“Did too.”

“I thought you said no arguing,” I said pointedly, hoping to pivot away from my faults. I knew I’d been a dickhead to Rupert, and by extension my friends, but they didn’t need to keep bringing it up. Every time they did, an uncomfortable knot tightened in my stomach, reminding me how difficult and horrible I’d made things for everyone with my impulsiveness.

I was surprised they still wanted to be friends with me.

“It’s all water under the bridge now,” Owen said, kissing the side of Darcy’s head. “Water off a duck’s back. Whatever happened, you made it through and you fucking smashed all your expectations. You made your dreams come true, and that’s something you all need to be proud of. So, yeah, we’re not arguing. We’re celebrating! Then, if you want to debrief, you can do it next week or the week after. Give yourself some time to decompress first.”

It felt like the last part of that was specifically aimed at Darcy, who we all knew would want to launch straight into reviewing the last few months in detail without even catching a breath.

“That sounds good. Waiting a few weeks, I mean. I need some time to do the numbers anyway, and I get the feeling my brain is going to turn into soup once it realises it can relax,” Alfie said.

I nodded. “Agreed. We all need at least a week to relax and process the last few months. My reactions are always delayed anyway, so it probably won’t hit me until, like, Wednesday, and then I’ll sleep for three days.”

There was a good chance I’d cry too, but that didn’t bother me. It was simply how my body processed big feelings, so I’d curl up with some tea, snacks, and some comfort movies and ride out the emotions until I felt better.

Maybe I’d see if Rupert was up for a couple of rounds of sex too. Orgasms always helped, no matter the situation.

“Okay, we can do that,” Darcy said, pushing his blond hair out of his face. I wondered if he’d get it cut short now the summer was over, even though the length really suited him. “I can message you all with a date and we can meet up to discuss. Maybe come to mine? Or we can go to Novel Tea?”

“We can talk about it later,” Owen said gently, nudging Darcy away from his spiralling thoughts before he got sucked into them. “First things first, let’s clean down and then go to the pub.”

“Is it even open?” I asked, a frown creasing my forehead. “It’s a Sunday, right? What time do they close?”

“Depends on the pub. But the Sleeping Goose is open until ten, so we can go there,” Owen said.

“Awesome. Let’s go then!” I grabbed the pot of ice cream scoops and carried them through to the kitchen to put them in the dishwasher. “Chop chop, people. Stop standing around! I need a drink.”

About an hour later, we found ourselves tucked around a corner table at the Sleeping Goose, one of Heather Bay’s many pubs and the closest thing it had to a queer bar. I didn’t know exactly how it had become the town’s unofficial queer pub, but it was, and I loved it.

The inside was warm and cosy, with worn furnishings and a random selection of decorations scattered across the walls, including multiple paintings and illustrations of geese in various forms. There was even a fat goose doorstop holding open one of the internal doors. It was so stinking cute I wanted to kidnap it for my flat.

For a Sunday afternoon, the bar was surprisingly busy. There was a rugby match on a TV in the corner, a small group crowded around it, including the recognisable figures of Theo and Laurie. I’d never pegged either of them to be sports fans, but in the back of my mind, I had a vague memory of Jonathan mentioning that Theo’s brother played professional rugby.