“Oh, no you don't. There's plenty of time for me to tell my news. Not that it's news as such; it's more that I want your advice. I'm a bit worried about something to be honest. But first, because I've had a bad week, let me talk about this. It's fun. So where is he pierced?”

I really shouldn't tell her this. It's a betrayal of trust in a way. Not that Samuel intended for me to see him naked, but me telling all and sundry about his piercings is a douche move.

“Come on, Carrie, it's me. Besties for life. You know I won't tell anyone. You've told me all sorts of things that I've kept to myself. Really bad things, like the time you put laxative in the drink of your fellow presenter because he was such a sexist bastard. If I would never talk about that, I'm hardly going to talk about your bodyguard’s piercings, am I? You can trust me.”

I take another drink and sigh as I put the bottle down. “His nipples. And his... You know.”

She sucks in a breath. “So, you've seen the goods? He looks like a big boy. Is everything big all over?” She flashes me a cheeky grin.

“Let's just say he's perfectly in proportion.”

“He is exactly my type.” She licks her lips.

And I realize belatedly that the reason I didn't want to tell her about his intimate details is because I feared deep down that she would find him attractive.

I bet she's just his type too.

We've never clashed over men before because we have completely different tastes. I tend to date bankers, literary types, lawyers, and once a doctor. She dates bikers, lead singers in bands, and the kind of writers who live on welfare because their poetry is so unusual as to be unmarketable.

If she sees a guy with tattoos, piercings, and a grunge kind of look, she's head over heels in two minutes. Whereas normally, I prefer them clean cut and in a suit, or at the very least, smart casual. We've often laughed at how different our tastes are.

“I'm just going to the ladies,” she says to me with a wink. Then she leans in close and whispers in my ear, “I might stop by his table to say a proper hello.”

I immediately bristle at the thought but don't say anything because in doing so I'm admitting not only to her, but to myself, that I'm deeply attracted to my bodyguard. That's just messed up.