I’m about to ask if he has any tips for a clueless man who thinks he might have found the one, but then I remember who I’m talking to. Drew wouldn’t know love if it slapped him around the face with a dildo. The man’s impenetrable. Probably more clueless than I am. And definitely kinkier. In fact, he’s pure filth.

Says the man who fucked a woman up the arse with no prep to test her boundaries and feelings for him.

The lift opens and Drew’s out, leaving my frowning form tucked away in the corner. I wasn’t testing her boundaries. Was I? I shake my head, following behind my friend. No, I was testing how responsive she is to me. How much she trusts me. How much she’s into me. Her acquiescence. Because one thing I know is that if a woman wasn’t majorly into a man, she definitely wouldn’t let him take her arse. Unless, of course, she was a member of The Manor. Which Ava isn’t.

“What a total pit,” Drew says, completely deadpan, as he walks through the lounge to the kitchen. “And do yourself a favor and get rid of Coral.” My eyes widen as I follow him into the kitchen, finding him with his face in the fridge. “Peanut butter? Is that all you’ve got to offer?”

“Step away from the peanut butter,” I warn as the door is slammed in disgust. I barge him out of the way and open it again, helping myself to a jar. Fucking hell, I’m beginning to feel stressed again. I whip off the lid and dive in. “What happened with Coral?”

Drew rests his arse against the counter. “Steaming drunk. Again.”

“Last night?” I ask, and he nods, his face in his phone. “Sarah didn’t mention it.”

“Sarah didn’t have to deal with it. She was busy in the communal room. John dealt with her. Took her home.”

“He didn’t mention it,” I muse, slowly sucking my finger clean, thoughtful, as Drew taps away at the screen of his phone. Why didn’t he mention it? I need to know this kind of shit.

“He said he didn’t want to trouble you.” He looks up, tucking his phone away. “Said you’ve got enough on your plate.” His head tilts. “Anything to do with a pretty little interior designer?”

I shove my finger in the jar and into my gob, buying some time. What can I say? Luckily, I don’t have to say anything. Sam rounds the corner into the kitchen with Cathy in tow, their hands full of cleaning stuff. Their timing is impeccable.

Drew looks on, horrified. “I’m not cleaning,” he declares, and Cathy laughs. “I came round to chill the fuck out before I go let off some steam at The Man—” He snaps his mouth shut, eyeing Cathy.