Bad Case of Loving You

Lena, F’s girlfriend, hadn’t been at the pub, so I’d assumed she’d been working, but she was waiting for us at F’s apartment, and she took Clarissa away, holding tightly on her arm, presumably to put her to bed.

When I stood beside Matthew, he said, “There’s a bong on the coffee table, just like my place.”

“There always is at F’s,” I explained. “Though when I’ve brought Henry over to fight with his kids, he’s always put it away.” I looked at the plump cream sofas, with luxuriant deep blue throw rugs over them, and the gleaming wooden floors, and said, “No beer can tower though.”

F said, “What don’t I have?” as he walked put to put the ornately carved box that he kept his stash in beside the bong.

“A beer can tower,” I said, and F chuckled.

“God, no. I haven’t had one of them for years. I’m embarrassed enough about the number of empty wine bottles I put out every week.”

“You could make a wine bottle tower,” Matthew suggested, much to my surprise. I had no idea he was acquainted enough with F to joke with him.

F chortled beside me. “Hell, yes. With the coloured bottles alternating with clear, all held together with Transpore. It’ll be a tribute to my misspent youth, may it last forever.” F raised his glass and said, “Fuck, you two need a drink. Booze is in the kitchen.”

There were platters of food in the kitchen, sandwiches and little pastries and the inevitable samosas, all covered with clear plastic and bearing the name of a large catering company. That was typical F, too, throwing money around, or rather debt.

I pulled Matthew into my arms when he opened overhead cupboards in search of glasses, and he settled back against me as I nuzzled his neck. “Mmm,” he said. “Aren’t you worried someone will walk in? And make trouble for you at work?”

I took a step back so I was leaning against a counter, the polished granite digging into my back, pulling Matthew with me so he was pressed against me firmly, his ass available and inviting against my groin.

“No,” I said against his neck. “Read this while I grope you.” I stopped fondling him with one hand for long enough to pull my dismissal notice out of my trouser pocket and hand it to him, then went back to sucking on the tender skin of his neck while he read the letter.

Someone walked in, said, “Oops,” and walked out again, and I had a really indulgent grind against Matthew, making him squirm and chuckle as he read.

Then he stopped squirming and said, “Fuck! They fired you!”

“Yep,” I said. “Not your tutor any more.”

Matthew turned around in my arms, sliding one thigh between mine, giving the most heavenly pressure against my cock, and wrapped his arms around my neck. “Aren’t you angry? Or upset? Because they fired you?”

“Too tired and horny to be angry,” I said, eyes fixed on Matthew’s lips. Fuck, he had stunning lips, just made for …

“Ask me tomorrow after ten hours sleep and three fucks.”

Okay, Matthew was grinding this time.

F walked in, opened the fridge, and said over his shoulder,

“You’ve got the spare room tonight, if we can stick Clarissa into a taxi without her puking. Save it for then.”

God, I loved F at times, even if he had a seven-figure mortgage.

Chapter Thirty Three

It felt weird to have Andrew’s arms around me in front of people who weren’t drug-fucked engineering students. Maybe they were all drug-fucked doctors? Nevins had sprayed red wine across the coffee table when Andrew had decided he was too pissed to still stand up, and had sat down on one of the gorgeous couches and pulled me into his lap.

Lin, on the other hand, had just looked smug, which made me wonder exactly how much she’d worked out for herself.

The food was good, and the three of us med students were made conspicuous by the enthusiasm with which we stuffed ourselves with it. Free food was almost as good as free booze.

Usually, if someone was passing around free buckets, I’d be in there, getting shit-faced, but I just passed the bong on to the giggling nurse beside me. I didn’t hand it to Andrew, whose lap I was still ensconced on, either. If he wanted three fucks, we were both going to have to sober up a little.

Sometime during the evening, when it was completely dark and tiny lights were glittering on the Thames, more people began to arrive, nurses coming off afternoon shift, doctors who had been at the strike and had then gone to do rounds. I recognised some of them from the ward.

Jane sat down wearily beside us, not even blinking at Andrew’s arm around my waist. She leaned her head back against the couch and groaned, then kicked her sneakers off and put her sock-clad feet up on the coffee table amongst the wine glasses and bottles.

“Mrs. Silva died,” she said, and Andrew’s hand tightened around my waist.

I remembered Mrs. Silva. Andrew had described her as a

’train wreck’, which apparently was the technical term for cascading multiple organ failure.

“Who pronounced?” Andrew asked. “It should have been me, but I couldn’t.”