Page 42 of Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye

But the weight of that nonchalant comment pressed heavily on Tarquin’s chest, her words sinking in. He forced out a laugh. “Hey, great minds think alike.” He bit his cheek to keep himself from blurting out even more nonsense. Bollocks. She’s drawn a line in the proverbial sand. But surely… there’s a chance I can change her mind?

“I also wanted to ask, when we hook up, can we come back here? My sister’s place is small and it would be…awkward. I don’t have a bedroom.”

“Whereas I have several,” said Tarquin, trying to sound upbeat. “We could try a different one each time if you’d like?”

“So, I’ll get that penthouse tour after all?”

“If you’re in London long enough. When do you fly back?”

“On the eighteenth.”

Less than two weeks? Tarquin’s stomach plunged. Bugger, it can’t get much worse. “That’s soon.”

“Yeah, but it works to our advantage, right? You said it yourself: we’ll live in the moment, have a laugh, enjoy our time together, and on January 18th, we’ll part without expectations or regrets.” Leia grinned. “The perfect fling.”

Tarquin faked his most sincere smile. The perfect heartbreak, more like.

• • •

“I’m telling you, my friend—angels wept, birds joyfully chirped in the dawn of a new day.” Phone to his ear, Tarquin reclined slowly into his large soaker tub, a river of sweet vanilla and marshmallow-scented pink bubbles fizzing around his body, courtesy of his favorite bath bomb. “We were this perfect coming together of—”

“No. Don’t.” Harry chuckled through the phone, half-asleep. “I don’t need to hear about you coming, together or otherwise, Balf…” His voice trailed off. “Especially at seven in the morning—on a Sunday. I’m chuffed you had a great time, but couldn’t it wait?”

“Hazza, last night was everything. I just want to curl up in a corner and purr.” Tarquin’s contented grin greeted the early morning sun sneaking past the gaps in the window blind. “It’s like all the mistakes, drunken shags, dates from hell—they were all worth it if they brought me to Leia.” He sighed, remembering the softness of her inner thighs against his lips, her taste on his tongue, and how she cried out with pleasure, her fingers twisting in his hair. “She’s exquisite.”

“And leaving in two weeks. And, apparently, NOT interested in a relationship!” Harry sighed. “Mate, she left yours at four a.m. This is going to end in tears. Not hers—yours.”

Jesus, Harry. Tarquin frowned and swirled his free arm through the sweet-smelling bubbles. Can’t you just play along? Let me enjoy my buzz for a few hours? “No, it won’t. I know what I’m doing. I have a good feeling about this.” He glanced at the bruise on his arm, a temporary memento from crashing into the rink barrier at Somerset House. “So, how was the film? Was Lucy pissed I bailed?”

Harry ignored his questions. “Shame you didn’t meet Leia last year.”

“And…your point is?” With his heel, Tarquin dunked a bobbing Darth Vader rubber duck under the pink froth. He had hidden the ducks in his en suite’s vanity last night so Leia wouldn’t spot them.

“Well, hookups were your thing until Alex, and then things changed. You changed.”

“Hmm, that’s true.” Tarquin winced. “Well, you know how much it pains my Slytherin arse to do this, but…fine—ten points for Gryffindor, Potter.”

Harry chuckled. “Oh, you know who that reminds me of? That girl you dated before our last year at Eton. She was blonde and set up her friends based on Hogwarts Houses—”

“Oh, Pandora! Yeah, she was un-freaking-forgettable.” Tarquin smiled. That box full of sex toys under her bed… truly life-changing.

“Didn’t she go to that insane party in Wiltshire? Remember it? The outdoors one with the Ferris wheel and exotic turtles roaming the lawns.”

“And strip charades by the pool! Ah, it was jolly good fun until I drunkenly got lost in their garden maze during the fireworks.”

“At least you didn’t take a tumble into the lake”—Harry snickered—“wearing your family’s medieval suit of armor.”

“I forgot about that! Blimey, yeah. Wasn’t that chap Pandora’s cousin or something?” Tarquin squinted, trying to pull a name from his memory. “What a twat!”

“Very nearly a dead twat if it hadn’t been for the Oxford water polo team acting sharpish. Unlike his so-called uni mates who were otherwise engaged, trashing his father’s wine cellar.”

“I didn’t know that!” Tarquin cringed. “Imagine when his parents got home from Bermuda or wherever the devil they were and found their Château Lafite 1869 smashed all to hell? I know I’ve done some stupid things, but I’ve never wrecked someone’s home for shits and giggles. Wankers. I would’ve left had I known that. Fuck my fee.”

“Oh, yeah! It was your first paid DJ gig.”

“Nope, third, but still bloody great. Pandora and I…god, we were so hot and heavy behind the decks. Everyone was so pissed, nobody noticed I played the same song twice.” Tarquin chuckled. “She spent half my set with her hand down my trousers. She had this fantasy about blowing a DJ while he spun, and well, you know me, making dreams come true since 1992!”

“Yeah, mostly your own!” Harry laughed.