LOGINJOSHLayla is silent for a moment. âWhy is there a dick in here?â She asks eventually.I rub my temples. âSinsters is an adult toy company,â I explain. âAnd Zack is an idiot.ââNo I ainât!â Zack says enthusiastically. âThis shit is important.â He takes the box off her. âI didnât know what toys youâve already got, so I figured I should order you the full range. It never hurts to double up. Look.â He starts rummaging around in the box. âYou got clamps. Cuffs. A bullet vibe. This one has a little rabbit head, apparently that feels really nice. A blindfold. A plug. Look, ainât it pretty?â He pulls out a plug with a little jewelled heart on the end.Layla stares at it. âWhat is it meant to plug into?â She asks, her voice hoarse.Zack looks shocked. âYour butt, honey. Oh my God. You never used one of these before?ââIâve never used any of this stuff before,â Layla says slowly. Her cheeks are pink. Gingerly, she reaches into the box and pulls out a string of silver metal balls, around the si
LAYLAJosh nods. âHe has informed me on multiple occasions that having a son who runs an âagony auntâ column is deeply embarrassing. But I donât exactly care about his opinion. Heâs a terrible person.âCrap. âAnd your mum?â I follow up, almost scared to ask. Josh doesnât say anything, spinning his water glass between his fingers. I may be socially stunted, but I know how to take a hint, so I turn to Zack.âWhat about your parents?ââThey donât mind me doinâ the podcast,â he says happily. âI think theyâre still kinda sad Iâm not playing rugby, though. It was my dream ever since I was a kid. They were as cut up as me when I injured my knee.ââDid you have to get surgery?ââOh, aye.â He yanks up the ankle of his dress trousers, showing me the long scar striping down the front of his knee.I trace my finger over the raised skin. âI wish I couldâve seen you play rugby.ââIâm glad you didnât, love. I was a prick back then.ââYouâre a prick now,â I say kindly. âDoes it still hurt?âHe smiles
JOSHLayla gives him a soft look, tugging on his bun. âIâm enjoying that aspect, too.âI watch them, my lungs aching. She thinks the podcast is all that matters to me, doesnât she? Everyone does. They think all I care about is engagement and numbers.Of course, I care about the podcast. I created it. Iâve worked for years to make it what it is. Iâll always want more listeners. But if Iâm honest, thatâs not why I suggested the segment.What matters to me is helping her. The image of her, teary-eyed and red-faced in our lounge, flashes into my head again. It makes my chest hurt.âWhy donât you want to be seen with us both in public?â I blurt out.She looks taken aback. âWhat?âZack frowns. âLeave her alone, man. If she doesnât want to, she doesnât want to.âI close my eyes. Iâve been told a lot that when I get too intense, I come across as harsh. I never mean to.âOf course,â I say, softening my voice. âAnd weâd never make you. I just want to know why. You were fine with us both taking
JOSHâI know,â Zack says, as Layla steps inside the flat, wide-eyed. âHe went overboard. I tried to tell him, but he wouldnât listen.âI roll my eyes, lighting the last candle on the table and setting the matchbox down. My hands are sweating with nerves, and I slip them into my trouser pockets.Tonight, itâs my turn to pick a date. I figured, since weâve already done a bar, a dinner date would be the next best thing. Ideally, I wouldâve taken Layla to an actual restaurant, but when I asked her, she said she didnât want to go out. So I did my best to set up a dinner date at our flat. The dining room table we never use has been covered with a white cloth. Iâve lit tapered candles and put some classical music on the record player. Thereâs salad in the fridge and a dish of homemade lasagne in the oven. The bouquet of roses I picked out this morning is sitting on the breakfast bar.I thought I was fully prepared, but now that Layla is standing in front of us, Iâm ridiculously nervous. S
LAYLAOne week after my second episode of Three Single Guys airs, I drag myself back up the stairs of my building, utterly exhausted.Itâs nine PM, and Iâve been up working since five this morning. Iâve spent all day at the warehouse unit I use to store all of my products, doing product quality checks and packing orders. My back is burning from hunching over the label address machine. My eyes are blurry from triple-checking every receipt. My fingers are sore and smudged with pink, where the colour from the pink tissue paper I use to wrap smaller items has come off.But I am very, very happy.My sales numbers have absolutely skyrocketed since the last episode of Three Single Guys came out. Itâs amazing. I havenât seen numbers this high since Christmas. Just yesterday, I had over 200 orders come in, and Iâve had to mark several items as out of stock on the website until I can get another shipment from the suppliers. I knew that being on the podcast would be good advertising. Still, I r
LUKEI walk back into my bedroom and shut the door behind me, leaning my head against the wood. My heart is pounding. I can feel myself getting hard under my jeans.Jesus.I havenât been this turned on in a long time. Years, probably. Behind my eyelids, the vision of Layla pressed up against the wall flickers in technicolour. I can still see her melting against Josh and kissing him hard.Moaning as he kisses down her neck, her cleavage practically spilling out of her low neckline. My balls throb, and I run a hand over my eyes.I need to get myself together. Sheâs my neighbour, for Godâs sake.My phone bleeps in my pocket. I pull it out, swallowing a groan when I see Amyâs number. Iâve been ignoring her messages for months now. Ever since I got her first wedding invite shoved into my letterbox. I didnât know what to respond, so Iâve just been putting off answering.AMY: The wedding is in five weeks, and you havenât RSVPâd. I need an answer today. Are you coming, and are you bringing a







