Chapter 1

My vision blurs as I try to focus on Nola's face and the words tumbling out of it. My best friend is rattling on about another potentially life-changing audition. I'm not a terrible friend. I care about her passions, but my filthy little mind can't help drifting back to the six-foot-two sensitive beefcake I'm going to climb like a tree tomorrow night.

Since moving to London last month, I've been on a few too many disaster dates. For example, one turned up in swim shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops. IN FEbrUARY, may I add. Bloody heathen. Another told me he was out, then proceeded to duck under the table when he saw some lads he knew from high school. And the one that takes the cake was extremely hot, but wouldn't shut up about his foot fetish. Now, I'm not one to kink shame, but he asked me if I had calluses and seemed genuinely disappointed when I said no, so do with that what you will.

Maybe it's my fault for signing up for such a ludicrous dating app. It's called BubbleButt, for god's sake. It's hardly a place to meet your soulmate.

I always did alright for myself in my shitty home town of Long Eaton. Admittedly it was slim pickings amongst the queer community, so I was practically a unicorn. None of my previous relationships lasted more than a few months, and I was more than ok with that at the time.

I can only hope tomorrow night isn't another flop, and I'll finally get over my dry patch with Edenloves69. It's a pretty basic screen name, but I'll let it slide if he lets me forage in his garden of Eden.

Apart from his beggy screen name, Eden seems relatively normal. He seems sweet even—a gentleman. As much as I want to have some fun, I also need my pursuits to be half-decent human beings if I'm going to get it up.

We've exchanged messages for over a week and have quickly fallen into flirty banter and good-night texts. I'm more hopeful for this date than I've been for one in a while. I even opened up about my questionable love life and my feelings—yes, actual feelings. Gross, I know. But Eden made it easy, and it seems like he's kissed his fair share of frogs, so he wasn't judgmental.

"Oi dickhead, are you even listening to me?" I catapult back into the almost empty bar at the sound of Nola's cranky voice.

"Yes, of course, congratulations. You're amazing."

I have no fucking clue what she's prattling on about, but hopefully, a sneaky compliment will cover my tracks.

"So, you don't think it's cringe?" she asks with a hopeful lilt.

Oh shit, what audition is this? If it's cringy, I can't possibly let her do it.

"Erm." I pretend to ponder for a moment, strumming my fingers on the solid wood table. My mind's gone to mush. I can't think of anything to dig myself out of this supermassive black hole.

"Screw you, Kai, you weren't listening. It's East End Girls," she whines.

I unintentionally laugh, resulting in her button nose scrunching and thick eyebrows drawing together. I slam my hand over my mouth to suppress my wild cackle.

"You're such a wanker," she grumbles, slapping my arm a smidge harder than what might be considered playful.

East End Girls is a spin-off of Eastenders, one of the most popular British soap operas. But it has half the budget and double the tackiness. The acting is diabolical, and there are memes about the show, and I don't mean the good kind.

"No, I'm sorry. Look…it's not, it's good, it's." I laugh, snort and stutter through my words.

"It's fucking terrible, I know."

If looks could kill, I'd probably be dead, but I don't miss the corner of Nola's lip twitching with the urge to laugh. It doesn't take long before she's joining me in the giggles. We must appear outlandish from the dirty looks we're getting from a few nosy customers on the surrounding tables. I always hate it when people are obnoxiously loud in public, well, unless I'm the one doing it, obviously.

"Thank god you can't do it. You're way too talented for that shit."

Once the laughter fades, Nola sighs and sinks further into her chair, looking like a sad puppy that just had its nose tapped for pissing on the new rug. I squeeze her knee in a rare moment of physical affection between us and she responds with a half-hearted smile.

"You're right. But my god, it's relentless out there. I've had audition after audition and it's always the same shit."

She mocks in a posh British accent, "Sorry, you're just not what we're looking for, dear."

I chuckle at her over-the-top impression, but feel the self-doubt radiating off her in buckets.

"Aw, sweetie, I know it sucks balls. You just have to keep doing what you're doing. The right role will turn up eventually. And until then, keep living off your sugar daddy's money, I guess."

My attempt to lighten the mood falls short because her eyes pinch together in a frivolous glare that I've learnt to love throughout our friendship.

"Eww." She puts on a show of pretending to gag. "You do know he can't be a sugar daddy if he's my actual daddy, right?"

"Did you call him daddy? Say it again but louder this time, for the people in the back," I jest, giving her a knowing wink.

"You're disgusting, you know that?" She beams at me even as the insult flows from her lips.

"Come on, you know your dad's a hunk. He was my first crush, actually."

Nothing gives me more pleasure than winding Nola up, and I'm pretty sure she enjoys it, too. Otherwise, she wouldn't have kept me around for so long.

"Yes, I know. You've been telling me for the past 20 years, you sick pervert."

"God, to think I used to run around naked in his back garden with my winky hanging out while he chased us with the garden hose. Think it would be weird if we did that now?"

Nola rolls her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get lost in the back of her head.

"No, not today, Satan." She abruptly stands, snatching her black clutch off the table. "I'm going to get a stronger drink, and when I return, we're talking about anything else but this."

Before she can squeeze past my chair, I grab her dainty wrist. Her hazel eyes snag on our point of contact in a scowl that reminds me of an angry kitten.

"You do know it's only 1 p.m.? And I have work in a few hours," I ask, trying to keep a straight face.

"Oh, that's a shame, isn't it? Guess I'm drinking alone then."

Tugging her arm free and flicking her auburn hair, a sweet strawberry scent tickles my nose. The mischievous smile on her face fills my chest with a familiar warmth.

"Guess you are." I chuckle. "You do know I love you, right?"

"Obviously, and I hate you."

The people at the table next to us look perplexed by our interaction, but it's always been our thing. We love each other despite how much we hate each other sometimes. It's unorthodox, but it's us. Nola isn't simply a best friend. She's my sister. She's family. And it's normal to hate family sometimes, I should know.

Nola returns a few minutes later with two suspiciously cocktail-looking drinks.

"Erm, what are those? I shouldn't drink before work," I complain, side-eyeing the extravagant glasses.

"Ah, chill out, don't get your knickers in a twist. It's two-for-one. They're both for me."

Nola grins while attempting to place them on the table without spilling the contents—she doesn't succeed.

"Shit, let me get some tissues," she groans before disappearing again.

Reaching for one of the glasses, I take a small sip. The subtle taste of Tequila teases my taste buds and guessing by the concoction of orange and red liquid, it's a Tequila sunrise. Not my first choice, but at least she got the alcohol right. I'm more of a margarita kind of guy. I like my drinks sour, unlike Nola, who likes everything way too sweet. It's a shame I can't say the same about her personality.

"Erm, excuse me, I thought you said you couldn't drink." She starts lazily mopping the small pool of liquid forming around her condensed glass.

"No, you misheard, love. I said I shouldn't. Didn't say I wasn't going to."

Nola smirks at me like she's won a bet. I bet my arse it wasn't two-for-one on the cocktails.

* * *

We continue catching up and taking the piss out of each for a couple of hours when my phone vibrates on the table. Quickly glancing down to see a new notification, my stomach decides to do a weird little flip. Edenloves69 has sent you a message.

My fingers itch on the side of my glass with the urge to check, but I refuse to be the kind of guy who jumps for his phone every time bae texts. I'm much cooler than that. Well, usually.

"I can see you looking at your phone. Just bloody check it."

"Was not," I snap, sticking my tongue out for good measure.

"Mature." Nola slowly rolls her eyes for emphasis, like I'd miss it.

I pick up the phone and click on the notification but don't open it. A pathetic smile finds its way onto my face. I could reply now, but pausing too long will only encourage Nola to ask questions.

"Sooooo?" she drawls, tapping her mint green nails on the side of her glass with a smug grin.

"It's no one." I force a blank expression, but the tips of my ears heat at her inquisition.

I already know she isn't going to drop it. Nola has this strange superpower where she can make me spill my deepest, darkest secrets even if I don't want to. I'm convinced she was a member of MI5 in a previous life.

"Come on, who is it? Do you have a new little snacky snack? Is it a dick pic?" she says, making her eyebrows dance.

As much as I joke about my dating endeavours, something about Eden makes me want to respect him. And much to my displeasure, he hasn't sent me a dick pic yet.

"Absolutely not, just someone I have a date with tomorrow night." I'm not sure why I'm being so coy. Shit, does Eden have me dick whipped already? Surely not.

"Ooh, let me see him. Picture. Now." Nola scoots her chair invasively close and hovers over me as I open up the app.

"Ugh fine, here," I grumble, handing it over because she'd only snatch it anyway.

Eagerly swiping left, her eyes double in size.

"Ay caramba, he's hot. Like really, really hot. He doesn't happen to swing both ways?"

I pluck my phone from her grasp and flick her in the tit. She pulls a face of fake horror and leans back, clutching her chest.

"Keep your filthy paws to yourself. He's mine."

Well, he's not. Not yet, anyway.

"So greedy. You never did know how to share."

A distant memory of eight-year-old me locking Nola in the basement, so I could play with her Bratz dolls alone flutters to the front of my mind, making me smile.

"Right, tell me everything. Name, age, location, occupation, go."

Returning to her original position, Nola balances her chin on her palms with wide, eager eyes and a plastered-on smile like some Grease reenactment of summer nights.

"You didn't read the profile?" I tease.

"Erm, no, I was distracted by the rest of him."

"You're only human, I guess."

"So, his name's Eden Moore, 30, from London. He works in IT and has his own company," I rattle off the basic info on his profile before taking another sip of my sickly-sweet cocktail and pulling a face.

"Older man with his shit together, hot damn."

"Exactly, I think I'm on to a winner."

"I hope it goes well."

Nola flashes me a genuine smile, not a conspiratorial one this time. She only wants the best for me.

"Thanks, I have a good feeling about him. Might even give him the candy."

It pains me to admit it, but I'm way more excited for this date than is socially acceptable.

"Ok, that's good. But be careful, and don't forget to share your location."

"You and your bloody location tracker." I poke at her, though secretly loving how much she cares.

"I mean it, dickhead."

Nola reaches out to squeeze my hand with genuine concern behind her bright eyes. She glances at our joined hands and quickly pulls away like she almost forgot we don't do the whole tactile thing.

Most of our relationship revolves around snark and banter. We've always used humour to hide our discomfort, but she's the only one who knows how much I've lost. Sometimes, it feels like she's all I have left in the world. My friends from back home are only interested in fun, party Kai and I don't know anyone in London except a few acquaintances I've met at temp jobs. So, it's no surprise she worries about me going on dates and taking people home. Not that I have yet. Every time I've had a date, she asks me to take precautions and I appreciate that, even if I can't bring myself to say it out loud.

"Fine, I'll share my location."

Relief washes over her face. Without another word, Nola pulls out her phone and starts tapping away at a million miles a minute.

I pipe up when she ignores me for longer than I'd like. "Er, hello, earth to Nola?"

Clicking my fingers a few inches from her face forces her to glance at me for half a second before returning to her phone.

"What are you doing?" I grumble.

"Background check, obviously," she replies, eyes still glued to the screen.

"For the love of god, Nola, he's not a catfish."

I slump back into my seat and polish off the rest of my dodgy cocktail while patiently waiting for the results of her thorough investigation.

I swear to god, this woman has a complex about online dating. In her defence, she was partially catfished once. The guy used pictures from ten years prior when he still had a full head of hair.

"Gotcha," Nola says, beaming at the screen.

"Go on then, how many people has he killed?"

"None that I can tell. His social media presence is dire. The man doesn't even have Instagram. He does have a LinkedIn, though, and there's a link to his company website, so I think he's legit."

"Give me that," I demand, holding my hand out.

I scroll through Eden's LinkedIn account and then jump onto his company website. It's all very dull, but it does put me at ease.

When the reminder for my shift goes off, I jump, dropping Nola's phone onto the table with a thunk.

"Shit, sorry," I say, passing it back.

I've worked at five different venues this month, so setting reminders is the only way to keep track of where I'm working.

"I should probably get going. These pints aren't gonna pull themselves."

Reluctantly standing, I slide my phone into the back pocket of my skin-tight leather trousers.

"Sure, want me to walk with you?"

"Nah, it's cool, it's not far. Have another drink. Blondie over there has been checking you out."

Nola's neck shoots up like a horny meerkat as she frantically scans the bar. "Really, where?"

I can't help but chuckle at her eagerness.

"Alright, love, calm your tits. Don't make it obvious."

Nola fidgets in her seat, trying to slyly look over her shoulder when the broad blondie starts making his way over. I hastily shove on my black faux fur jacket, not wanting to be privy to her questionable flirting.

"Oh shit, is he coming over?"

She squirms, her freckles that usually stand out against her pale white skin get lost in a rosy blush.

"Yes, but be cool, for fuck's sake."

As he reaches us, I send her a wink and mouth, ‘Be safe,' before hightailing out of there.