Willow snapped his fingers in his face. “Psycho, do you wanna cuddle up and watch Bluey?”

“Can we have ice cream?”

“Of course, mate.”

Psycho grinned, a sweet, boyish smile. “Let’s go. Too loud in here.”

Willow shot her a laboured look and Eden laughed. She liked the idea of them curled up on his couch. “Is Bluey that kids’ show about dogs?”

“It sure is. Have you seen it?”

She shook her head.

“It’s good. My cousins like it.”

Psycho tugged Willow’s shirt. “Ice cream?”

He sighed. “Sure. Bye, pretty girl.”

Eden watched them make their way across the dance floor, cutting a thick path through the other patrons. With a stab of panic, she realised he hadn’t asked for her number, and she hadn’t asked for his. This was one of those grown-up, flash-in-the-pan things. Never to be repeated.

Cheryl arrived with their drinks. “He left?”

“He did.” Eden took the vodka and tipped it back, draining the glass in one.

“Jesus, woman!”

“Don’t be like that. Let’s dance.”

It occurred to her later, when she was walking home, the sun rising around her, that she’d gotten the night she wanted. A casual hook up, a little jealously from Francis and a big dance with her friends. It had been wonderful, it just wasn’t enough.

4

“Psycho, I love you, but you’re a useless prick and you’ve ruined my life.”

“Fair.” Willow’s teammate was balled up on his couch, only a tuft of his brown hair visible under a blanket.

At least he wasn’t trying to deny it.

He watched Psycho squirm like a dying beetle and was once more overcome with pity. He pulled himself off the couch, staggered to the kitchen and poured them both a glass of ice water. The cubes tinkled and even that innocuous sound made his head throb. He was a bonafide mess. He’d spent the last six hours hanging out with Psycho, speaking to him in low, soothing tones, watching the sun climb higher in the sky as he fought the twin urges to pass out and wank himself stupid.

He’d hooked up with Eden Jade.

He’d kissed her.

He’d smelled her hair and skin and it smelled like papaya and melting sugar.

He’d made her come twice—and whenever he touched his face, he was transported back to the club, his fingers buried in her wet, perfect pussy.

Unlike Psycho, he hadn’t taken any drugs, but it felt like he had. He’d been up all night in a daze and now he was coming down from the crazy high of worshipping Eden’s body. Comprehending he hadn’t gotten her number or even asked to see her again.

“Willow?” Psycho called from the lounge. “You don’t hate me, do you?”

“No, Patrick. Just relax, I’m coming back now.”