Because I was sensible and not a romantic I shifted between staying with Jacob and Maxwell for the next few days. The weekend had been spent curled up with Max, on his sofa, in his bed, on his cock and it was magical. We talked and touched and teased and all I could do was smile, but by Monday morning I knew I needed to preserve the smiles and give us some space.

He hadn’t wanted me to stay elsewhere. Although he’d carried my bags, all set for me to spend a couple of days with my best friend—a male who happened to be gay and had absolutely no interest in my lady parts, scientifically proven—his expression was stoic and therefore betrayed the fact that he was revealing no emotion, which meant he was feeling it.

Because my man felt.

He hid it. Deep underneath everything, he covered what was going on in his heart for the sake of everyone else. Jackson asked him to be best man, but instead of being excited and nervous and delighted, he was cool and calm about it, as if it was just another thing to add to his list. It was because he didn’t want to upset Seph and Callum, even though I knew Seph didn’t mind; I couldn’t speak for the brother I hadn’t met.

Had I been a simpering, romantic sort of girl, I’d have embedded myself at Max’s, made sure my scent and bodily fluid were all over every set of his sheets so the thought of me returning to the apartment from hell was beyond consideration.

It was unheard of. That was true. Jackson confirmed my inheritance on Monday, so Tuesday evening, Jacob and I went apartment hunting. I was looking for short term leases within walking distance from the college and therefore Max’s place. Not that I admitted the latter to Jacob.

“You could just buy,” he said as we finished viewing yet another overpriced hovel.

“I don’t know where I’m going to be.”

“You’re going to be here. I can feel it in my water—and other bodily fluids. Vicky, if you leave it will be a disaster.”

I stopped walking, hands on my hips and giving him the look I’d let my students have if they were telling me they were too heartbroken to complete an essay. “Jacob, my grandfather wanted me to have those experiences. I have to take this step while I don’t have commitments like a house and bills and animals…”

“You can afford to buy back your house outright and not have to bother a bank. You could mothball it and work abroad and have a base back here. You can have it all, Vicky. Look at what you have going on right now: a decent man for the first time in forever and who knows what he’s doing in bed, good colleagues and the promise of a friendship group,” Jacob said. During the day, whilst he was at work, he was Mr Asexual, preferences non-disclosed. As soon as we were out of the public arena, his inner diva was let loose. He was also extremely romanticised.

“I’ve stayed at Max’s twice. He’s been at mine once,” I started.

“Yes, that’s true. But by stayed, you were there all day Saturday and Sunday and reluctant to leave on Monday. He lit your fires in bed and you’re twitchy because you’d like some more of his cock sooner rather than later. Have you heard from him today?” Jacob’s monologue shifted like it usually did. Most of the time it was useful as he could work himself away from topics rather than needing a full-on intervention.

“We texted. And he called me at lunch. And after my tutorial.” And while I walked to Jacob’s. The conversation had been nothing meaningful, just general chatter about the day, politics, office politics, his PND case and my apartment. But it had filled a space I didn’t know was there.

“You should go tomorrow,” Jacob said, his hands on his hips. “Not that I’m throwing you out, but I am. And you need to decide on another apartment. Make some form of commitment for the next few months.”

“Okay,” I said, and I knew he was right. I had an inheritance—a rather large one—about to land in my bank account. I could quit my admin job and concentrate solely on my thesis and teaching and applying to wherever I wanted to be next September.

I wanted to be in bed with Max.

“I’ll let this one,” I said, gesturing around the ground floor apartment where we were standing. It was nothing special, except it was walking distance to the college and to Max’s, not that being near him should be a deciding factor.

“Good,” Jacob said. “You can have it on a nine-month let, so you don’t need to move again into shitty college accommodation.”

“Excellent,” I said. “I’ll stay firmly put.”

For some reason I felt nervous. Not the sort of before-a-driving-test-nervous, or at an-interview-nervous, just plain old nervous. Which was bizarre as I wasn’t a nervous person. I’d skydived; bungee-jumped; been arrested in Germany—long story; rode a camel; almost been exchanged for five camels; had a lost passport; all kinds of nervous, but meeting-a-specific-person-nervous? Never.

Vanessa Moore, soon to be Callaghan, remembered she had stored my number in her phone even after two, probably three, bottles of rather sublime rioja. I’d received a text on Sunday making plans for a coffee date, now a cocktail date on Wednesday. As lovely as she’d been and friendly as her text had translated, I was nervous and that wasn’t me.

Putting my finger on why I felt this way wasn’t easy. There was nothing in mine and Vanessa’s short history that suggested we wouldn’t get along: we’d had a couple of great evenings together; at the ball we’d been rather hysterical over something both Max and Jackson did—a point I couldn’t quite remember but it concerned their penises—and the texts we’d exchanged had been humorous and self-deprecating in part.

The bar where we’d arrange to meet was busy, as was most of London at this time. I’d spent the day alternating between lecturing and teaching in seminars, so my dress wasn’t quite office attire and more me—fitted, low cut with knee high boots, which the weather was now cool enough to let me wear.

A low whistle greeted me from a shaded table, away from the melee of the rest of the bar. “You look all kinds of fuckable, as my friend Sophie would say.”

I turned and smiled, seeing Vanessa dressed in a cute three-piece suit, the shirt with a low neckline. “I feel all studented. By which, I mean talked to death and I have barely any words left.”

“Then let’s bring on the cocktails and see what they’ll give back. I’ve promised Jackson I’ll have three then meet him to go home. I hope you don’t mind. Or if we’re still drinking and it gets to seven, he’s turning up. It’s poker night at ours and a long story.” She rolled her eyes. “Men. Actually, not even men. Just those brothers and Killian.”

I nodded. “Max dropped off a key at my offices while I was in a lecture. He texted to say he might be late back.”

“But I bet he said he’d try to be out quickly so he could get home?” she said, smiling knowingly. “I heard him grumbling this morning that he hadn’t seen you since Monday morning.”

“Really?” I tried to stop my heart from speeding up but quickly realised it was something I couldn’t control. “I’ve been staying with my friend Jacob. It didn’t seem fair to Max to impose for more than a couple of days, especially since I’ve only known him three weeks or so.”

“Yeah to all that and he was referring to the same sort of thing when Jackson and Seph were teasing him, but he’s been grumpier than normal since Monday so my guess is that he’d rather have you at his than you be at Jacob’s,” Vanessa said with a grin as two Long Island Iced Teas were deposited on our table. “It’s two for one. This seemed like something no one could dislike and there’s lots of alcohol.”

I made an agreeable noise given that my lips were already on the straw and I was sucking up the drink like a porn star. “What about Claire?” I asked when I’d quenched my initial thirst.

“She’s running a bit late. And she’s on some no drinking kick. So where’s the apartment you’ve rented?”

I gave her the address and a description of the place. It really was nothing amazing, but it meant I could move all my stuff into somewhere that wasn’t full of mould and I wouldn’t have to walk too far to work.

“You didn’t consider staying with Max long term?” Vanessa said, a wicked smile growing.

I knew a comment like this would be brought up. She was digging for information and she was going to be disappointed.

“We’re just having fun,” I said. “And he got me out of a fix by letting me stay for a few nights. I don’t have to go back to the hovel—my new place will be ready at the weekend as it came vacant suddenly. Max has been great.”

She took a long drag of her cocktail, watching me with interest. “You do seem pretty keen on each other. At the ball on Friday you didn’t seem like a couple who had just hooked up.”

“It feels like we’ve known each other for longer than we have, but we’ve spent a lot of time texting and emailing. He’s a good man.” I felt a pull in my stomach as I spoke about him. Max was the cream in my coffee; he sweetened my day and made it more palatable. I’d had boyfriends and lovers before, but no one significant had ever rocked my world, or my bed. “But I’m not in the market for a long term relationship.”

Heel clipped against the stone floor. “Does that translate to ‘he’s boring in bed and can’t keep it up for more than three minutes?’ I hope so, because I can’t wait to share it next time we have dinner.” Claire sat down next to me. “Please tell me the vanilla rumours are true?”

“You really want me to talk about what your brother’s like in bed?” I said, turning to her. She was dressed immaculately: neat tailored suit, bobbed hair and make-up that was barely there. She glowed.

“I’ve been listening to stories about my brothers’ sex lives since I was thirteen and Max’s girlfriend at the time was my best friend’s older sister. She described in the greatest detail just how boring my brother was in bed. I hope for your sake he’s improved.” Claire sat down, putting what looked like a glass of lime soda in front of her.

“How much detail do you want?” I threw out the challenge.

“If he’s making your eyes roll to the back of your head on a regular basis then not much as there’s no fun for me in that,” she said, checking her phone.

“By the look on your face, I take it he’s doing his job at hitting the spot,” Vanessa said. “Jackson knows his way around my G-spot. If Max is anything like him, you’ll never need to pay for another massage again. I swear my resting pulse rate dropped after we got together.”

“I’d like to say Killian’s had the same effect,” Claire said, staring at her glass. “But since we got together it’s been a bit of a rollercoaster. Not that I’m really complaining.”

The conversation drifted into a discussion about weddings and business and men. I chipped in when I could, finding out about their close-knit world and separating myself from it. As much as I liked Vanessa and Claire—and could’ve quite happily been friends with them both—it didn’t make sense to develop those sorts of ties when I wasn’t sure where I’d be living in less than twelve months’ time.

“I’ve discovered having a day off from Jackson doesn’t work,” Vanessa said. “He just ends up grumpy and I wonder why I’m depriving myself. I’ve also no idea for how long we’ll be like this. Give us a couple of years of being married and maybe a kid and I doubt we’ll manage once a month.”

Claire’s face looked concerned. “I’m not sure that always applies. Friends of mine ended up with ten months between their two, so one baby mustn’t have put them off. I suppose it’s down to the individuals.”

“Another drink?” I said, looking to Vanessa first. I had my suspicions about why Claire wasn’t drinking, the topic of conversation being a big clue.

She eyed her empty glass. “I’ll have another one of these. Jackson texted to say he and Max are on their way here before poker night.”

“I’m staying on my health kick. Trying to prove I can stop drinking when I’m not on a case,” Claire said, sipping her drink and trying not to pull a face.

I headed to the bar, conflicting thoughts pinging around my head. I hadn’t had a group of girl friends since my undergraduate degree, but I already felt uncomfortable enough about forming something on false pretences. I needed to feel comfortable with the situation to have any chance of being myself and if I didn’t loosen up, they’d start to question why the hell Max was dating someone like me.

I clutched the bar for balance as warm hands grasped my waist and a familiar scent stopped me from turning around and kneeing my captor in the dick. Which, to be fair, he would’ve deserved but I had no intention of spoiling my own fun.

“You’ve survived my sister,” Max said. “Who is drinking lime soda. That means she’s at her least pleasant.”

I turned around and he let one of his hands drop, seeming a little less possessive. “Any ideas why she’s not having something alcoholic?”

“Some,” he said, giving nothing else away. “I’m hoping you’re staying with me tonight.”

“If you’re okay with that. I get the keys for my new apartment on Saturday, so if I can stay till then…”

“That’s fine,” he said, bending his head for a quick kiss. “I’ll help you move and check it’s safe.”

“It even has a door that locks,” I said, unable to take my eyes away from his.

“Added bonus,” Max said. “Can we have three pints of Punk IPA? And I’ll get whatever the lady’s ordered.”

I dug him in the ribs with my elbow. “I can afford a round of drinks, you know.”

He chuckled. “I know. But I like feeling manly. Don’t deprive me of it.”

“I can think of other ways to help you feel manly.” My hand slid to the front of his trousers and grazed his cock and he emitted a low rumble.

“Poker starts in half an hour,” he said. “I’m usually grumpy. Do that again and I’ll be even worse.”

Smiling sweetly, I took my drink and stepped away from him. “I’ll keep my hands to myself then. Maybe make good use of them while I cosy down in your bed and read a book, you know, one of those contemporary romance things.”

Max groaned. “Maybe I’ll miss poker.”

There’s a point when two cats, new to each other, make eye contact and the gaze between them seems like a fixed, unmovable point in time that even the distraction of a mouse or cheese or one of those red dot laser pens couldn’t shift.

I was observing one of those stares now, but it wasn’t one between two cats silently deciding whether one was going to submit to the other or they were going to have to yowl it out, probably loudly and with some demonstration of claws.

Only this wasn’t cats or even tigers. This was two, allegedly grown, men.

“That table can just go here,” I directed, hoping to break whatever silent conversation they were having. “Just here. It’ll probably need the two of you to… Never mind.”

Max lifted the table by himself in a blindingly obvious show of strength. Not to be defeated, Jacob picked up an antique wooden chair. “Where do you want this?”

“Well, I’d like it in one piece,” I said under my breath. “Next to the bookcase. It’s my reading chair.” It was a piece of history, my history, the place where I’d sat on my grandad’s knee while he told me stories of the Armada and Good Queen Bess and Mary Queen of Scots. If Jacob’s take on the World’s Strongest Man meant it was going to be damaged, I’d be showing him my strength in the area of batshit crazy.

“I’ll just get my tool kit out of the car,” Max said, looking slightly dishevelled after moving the table. “I’ll start to put your bed together.”

“I can do that after,” Jacob said. “I dismantled it so I know where everything needs to go.”

“Given that I’ll be sleeping in it and you won’t, I’d rather make sure it is as stable as possible...”

I turned around from emptying my books onto my bookcase and hands headed straight to my hips. Shakespeare’s note about Hermia—‘though she may be little, she is fierce’—was about to be defined by me not just losing the plot but rewriting the whole fucking thing and having it bound in leather.

“This. Stops. Now,” I shouted. It was midday on a Saturday. If my neighbours were being disturbed, then good, they should be making the most of the weekend. “All goddamn morning both of you have been like a pair of cockerels just waiting for the farmer to turn his back so you can start trying to pull each other’s feathers out and I’m fed up of it!

“Max—Jacob is gay. He would much rather have you naked in that bed than me, so stop trying to piss all over your territory. Jacob—back the fuck down. Just because I’m having sex with someone does not mean you have to act all possessive and jealous. I can be having sex with someone and still be your friend—although maybe not both at the same time because that would be a different level of kink than I’m used to.”

Both men stood in front of me with their hands in their pockets, jaws slightly dropped.

“So can we please drop the alpha male urinating contest and maybe just concentrate on getting that van unloaded and my stuff in some kind of place so I can actually get on with unpacking?”

They glanced at each other, the cat staring competition declared a draw. They would share territory, just not for the same purpose.

“Shall we bring the sideboard in?” Jacob said.

The sideboard had been one of my grandmother’s prized possessions. When she was annoyed with my grandad, she would polish it until it glistened. When I had a second look around the apartment with Max two days ago, I’d realised I’d be able to take a bit of the furniture out of storage, as it was a bigger space than the hovel. The sideboard, bookcase and chair had been my less than practical selection.

“Good plan. We can get the bigger pieces set up then,” Max said, hands still in his pockets.

“Excellent. You’re playing nice. Keep it up for the next few hours.”

As I emptied the boxes of books, the men brought in my furniture and then my suitcases full of clothes and shoes. Jacob passed stereotypical comments about me having more heels than a drag queen. I ignored him, my hands rediscovering treasured texts and novels. For some people, it was the smell of books; for me, it was how they felt, their weight, the texture of the pages against my fingers and smoothness of the covers.

“Feisty lady, come see how we’ve set up your bedroom.”

I looked up to see Max, his T-shirt slightly sweaty, hair mussed. He looked serious and hopeful at the same time, as if he was worried I wouldn’t like what they’d done.

I smiled, putting another book in its right place. “You’ve not murdered each other then?”

He dropped his head to one side, something I noticed he did when he was amused. “He’s all right. Are you sure he’s gay?”

“Very,” I said. “I’ve met several of his one-night stands. Plus, I was his try out to see if he really didn’t like girls when we were eighteen, and trust me, he doesn’t know how to kiss a woman.”

Max pulled his face. “You kissed him? Did you like him in that way?”

I laughed. “No. But we were drunk and he was curious. And I suppose I was too. I wanted to see if I could make him succumb to my female charms. He didn’t. I was lacking a certain important part.”

“Good. That you were lacking that part. You didn’t feel bad because he didn’t want to, you know?”

I tried to stop my smile at his uncomfortableness. “I’ve never lacked confidence with men, Max. One knock-back from someone who preferred bigger biceps and smaller pecs than mine didn’t do me any lasting damage.” For someone who was keen on the dirty talk, he was struggling with this. “Let’s see what you’ve done to my boudoir.”

The bed had been assembled, the wardrobe and a set of huge chest of drawers somehow guided through the door. My bed had been made and cushions arranged on it artfully, which had to have been Jacob’s doing; Max didn’t do cushions. One of the paintings I’d brought from storage had been hung exactly where I’d have chosen to put it and my standing mirror angled so it was away from direct light.

They stood like two schoolboys waiting to be praised and I wondered if they’d let me take a photo and send it to their families.

“It looks amazing. I don’t know how you managed to get the drawers through the door. I thought they’d have to go in the hall or back in storage.”

They grinned at each other and Jacob glanced at the window which had more finger marks on the glass than it had before. I decided not to ask any more questions, then I could deny all knowledge when I tried to get my deposit back.

“Teamwork,” Max said, and I threw a cushion at him.

“I think I should buy you both a beer. I’ve done enough unpacking for now any way,” I said, feeling the urge for a large glass of red wine or even a bottle.

Jacob shook his head. “I have to go and get showered. It’s my monthly meal with the judge and I need to at least try to look presentable so he doesn’t disinherit me. Besides, you probably want to check out the stability of the bed.”

Max sniggered, maintaining the whole school boy vibe he was giving off.

I flung my arms around Jacob and thanked him profusely, making him promise to come back the next day and help me sort my wardrobe.

“Now I’m convinced he’s not interested in you,” Max said when Jacob agreed, offering a makeover with my clothes.

I knew when I was packing that I was in need of losing a few of my previous favourite outfits as they were definitely past wearing in public.

“Too right,” Jacob said. “You’re far more my type. Let me know if you ever want an alternative experience.”

Jacob gave him a flirtatious wink and dramatically exited, all signs of the alpha male well and truly buried. He enjoyed both roles: I suspected his affairs did too.

“Shall we go for a walk?” Max said, trying to neaten his hair that was stuck up in varying directions. “Isn’t your grandfather’s house near?”

I took the opportunity to put my arms around him, feeling muscles that had been used for lifting and carrying. “It’s about a half-hour walk away. There are a couple of bars on the way though.”

“I’d like to see it,” he said, his arms around me, his hands on my ass. Apart from my boobs, my ass was definitely his favourite. I now had a bite mark or two there from Thursday night.

“I’ll take you there.”

We grabbed jackets as the weather was now feeling autumnal and headed off through the streets of south London, the Saturday tourists thinning out as we walked through the more residential areas.

My grandfather’s house was a detached property, set back from the road with a large driveway. I hadn’t been there since it had been sold, not having been ready to revisit some of most difficult days of my life when I was looking after him, knowing the inevitable end. Max made me braver. I wasn’t a coward and common sense and practical actions were how I’d managed through a childhood that wasn’t the most conventional, but he made me act instead of dwell.

The house had been bought by a company that renovated properties, flipping them and selling them for a profit. The builder’s board was up outside but looked weathered. Half the windows had been replaced, the other half still looked like a pencil being poked at them would put them through.

My grandad had known that the house needed modernising: a new kitchen, bathrooms, windows, roof, but he’d never got around to it, a book or exhibition at a museum always being more important and in his last year it had been important to keep the house as he remembered it. My grandmother had still been in every room with its décor and furniture and neither of us had wanted those touches to be eradicated.

“How does it look?”

“Half finished. Do you think we can go inside?”

“Only if you know a way in that won’t be locked,” he said, looking only slightly concerned at breaking and entering.

“Through the cellars,” I said. “Unless someone has replaced the doors down there they won’t be locked.” He looked hesitant. “If we get caught I’ll talk us out of any trouble. Or flash them my boobs. That usually works.”

I grabbed his arm and pulled him down the driveway while his mouth was still chewing on what words to say.

“Tell me you’ve never done that to get you out of trouble,” he said, when speech finally returned.

We were finally at the outside steps that led down to the cellars, although they were almost covered with a garden that had been left to develop into a small, London jungle.

“If I did, I’d be lying,” I told him, jiggling the door and yanking it up. There was a groan and it moved inwards, creaking ominously. “This was why I learned what WD40 was for. When I was a teenager and wanted to sneak outside at night I had to make sure this door was well oiled.”

He studied me in the half darkness of the cellar. “If you ever have daughters you realise everything you did will be doubled by them.”

“I look forward to them trying,” I said. “It’ll keep me young and quick-witted. These were the cellars. We would’ve converted them I suppose, or should’ve. A wine cellar and a cinema room.”

“Or a gym,” he said, using the torch on his phone to look around the room.

“Not something I’ve ever used. I get my exercise through other means.”

Max’s arm flicked around me and pulled me into his side. His fingers dipped down the waistband on my jeans and he nuzzled into my hair. “I’ll help you out with that later. We need to test how sturdy that bed is.”

“Want to try and break it? I wouldn’t mind an excuse for a new one,” I said, untangling myself and leading him through the antechambers to the stairs.

The first floor had been gutted, some rooms down to brick. A whole rewire had been completed, it seemed, but the plastering hadn’t been finished. “This was the snug,” I told Max. “That’s where the chair I’ve got now used to be, with the bookcase next to it. This was my grandfather’s—and my—favourite room.”

We walked through and he listened to me telling stories of what had happened in each room: the day my grandad set fire to the kitchen and the black mark was still visible on the old tiles; the time I fell down the stairs when the tray I’d been trying to race down on had caught the carpet and sent me flying; the night I hid a boyfriend in the kitchen larder. He didn’t like the latter, judging by the look on his face.

“How would you have it now. What would you change?”

I laughed. I would be able to afford to buy it back and redo it now, thanks to Max and his brother. “I’d knock through the dining room in to the kitchen and have it open plan. Extend out into the garden with Velux windows and bi-fold doors.” I described my dream house as we walked through and he listened carefully.

“What about décor? Light fittings and wallpaper?”

“Wouldn’t have a clue. I like greys and soft pinks. Other than that I’d have someone like your sister to advise. Then I’d have cushions. Lots of cushions.”

“Why do you need lots of fucking cushions?” he said. “What is this female obsession with padded bits of material? My sister’s got so many of them you can’t sit on the fucking sofa.”

I giggled, leaning in to him. “Makes it comfier,” I said. “Especially when you consider spending time on your knees.”

“Time on your knees doing what?” he said, looking about as innocent as a widow on her seventh husband.

“I could show you, but I need to ascertain you’ll return the favour.”

“I’m more than happy to, but why the cushions?”

“Keep your knees comfier. Increases staying power.”

“If that’s the case,” he said. “I’m all for cushions in the future.”