Page 1 of The Quirky Vet

1

Muir

"Shots!" a bubbly blonde from the cluster of pretty blondes we've joined at the bar calls out.

I glance over at my best mate, Fitz, and tap the side of my neck. He takes my hint and nods affirmatively.

"Sorry, ladies," I announce with a firm clap. "It's been fun, but we're gonna head."

The lead blonde trots over to us.

"You sure you wanna go? We're just getting started," she yells into my ear to be heard over thePadam Padamremix pumping way too loudly through the club's sound system.

I angle my face towards her ear. "Need some fresh air."

These are not the first shots we've had tonight. Truth be told, I can't quite remember how we ended up in this club.

Or the rooftop bar before this place.

Or the cocktail lounge we were politely asked to leave for being too boisterous before that.

My memory seems to have fucked off sometime shortly after Maisey said a tearful no to my proposal and raced out of the private dining room.

Not getting what she wants from me, the blonde latches onto Fitz. A fiery pang courses through my chest as she slides her palm over his broad shoulder and whispers something into his ear.

Must be the heat. The club is teeming with sweaty bodies, and the air con is barely coping.

He politely hears her out, but he's just as shell-shocked as I am with how tonight has panned out.

This trip to the Gold Coast was his idea.

Renting a private dining room for a double proposal to our girlfriends on Valentine's Day was his idea.

Posting the expected jubilant outcome to celebrate his TikTok milestone of reaching a million followers was his idea.

Not on the cards?

Rejection from both of our girlfriends, synchronised like a fucking Olympic ten-metre dive.

Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. We were meant to be happier than a dog with two tails. Instead, we're drowning our sorry arses in as much alcohol as we can get our hands on.

The blonde's persuasive powers don't work on Fitz. We wave to the ladies before heading out for some much-needed fresh air.

"Fuck it was hot in there." He undoes the top few buttons of his brown button-up once we're out and on the street.

It's a balmy night, and the faint scent of the salty ocean hangs in the air.

"Tell me about it." I point to an empty bench outside a 7-11. We sit down, and I let out a noisy groan. I think I fucked my back taking a shot too aggressively at the rooftop bar before. "We're too young to be too old for this," I grumble.

Fitz claps me on the leg. "Mate, we're pushing thirty, and I swear we were the oldest people in that club."

"That's depressing."

"This whole night is depressing."

He kicks his legs out and manspreads, the side of his thigh pressing up against mine. I've got plenty of space to my left, so I could move over.

I don't.

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