Zeb seems to have softened in some way. He’s still sarcastic. It’s a trait he can’t get rid of, and I’m glad of it. But he smiles more and laughs a lot, and I comfort myself that I can make him happy when Patrick couldn’t.

The only blips have been the constant texts from Patrick which Zeb checks and then dismisses, but that’s not going to work forever. Patrick is hovering on the surface like the dorsal fin in Jaws.

Pushing thoughts of the wanker away, I cough pointedly. Zeb’s mouth quirks but he lifts his arm and I immediately snuggle closer, laying my head against that hairy chest and practically purring as he runs his hand through my hair in a lazy scalp massage.

We lie there for a few minutes as the sweat cools on our bodies. “I have a small confession to make,” he says, stirring.

I tense and lift up, resting my chin on his chest. “What?” I ask slowly.

“Do you remember saying you hadn’t done any pretend boyfriend jobs in ages?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it wasn’t by accident.”

“What?” He fidgets under me and I reach out, trapping him with my arms. “Oh no. You have to tell me now, Zeb Evans.”

I’m amused to see a faint flush on his cheekbones. “I stopped Felix booking you for any with young men last year,” he says so quickly that it takes me a few seconds to work out what he just said.

“I’m sorry, what?” I say.

He huffs a sigh. “I didn’t want you to do them anymore,” he mutters.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to book you for something and see you end up with the bloke.”

For a long second I stare at him, a hot feeling of intense happiness and something stronger in my chest. I eye his awkward expression and opt to hide my jubilation.

“And do you feel better for that confession?” I ask. “Knowing that you could have deprived me of meeting my one true Prince Charming?”

“At someone’s Christmas office party? You’d have just met vomit and damaging career decisions,” he scoffs.

“You never know where you’ll meet your prince,” I say solemnly. “Zeb, I don’t know what to say. This is such a new facet to your character.”

“You’re a massive pisstaker, aren’t you?” he says in a resigned tone and I laugh.

“It’s one of my many, many charming traits.” I reach up and kiss him. “Thank you for telling me,” I say softly.

“You’re not bothered?” He sounds astonished.

“Nope. Why would I be?” He stares at me, so I elaborate. “You’re telling me you didn’t want me with anyone. Why would I be pissed off? It runs both ways.”

“But I stopped you meeting someone.”