Page 7 of Anton

Derrick, ever the matchmaker, had roped us all into a drunken game of “spin the bottle,” with a twist: truth, dare, or sing. When it landed on Anton, Derrick dared him to kiss me. So he did. And oh boy, what a kiss. Every nerve in my body lit up like it was a live wire, and my brain was about to short-circuit. If I thought the New Year’s Eve kiss was amazing, this one was spectacular. For a brief, glorious moment, it felt like everything had finally clicked between us.

Until Derrick cleared his throat, reminding us we weren’t alone. Realising what had just happened, Anton quickly madean excuse and left the party, shattering the fragile hope I hadn’t even realised I was clinging to.

I sighed, hugging the duvet tighter as sadness crept in. Why couldn’t I just move on? Why did he keep giving me these glimpses of something more, only to take it back?

The sound of movement from the kitchen snapped me out of my pity party and I peeked out from under the duvet, gulping when I saw the suit jacket strewn across the chair beside my bed. Anton’s.Shit. He’s still here?

Yes, of course he was. I held my head in my hands, groaning in mortification. He’d stayed to make sure I was okay. After I’d made such a fool of myself last night, instead of running for the hills like any sane man would, he was here, taking care of me.

The thought filled me with a strange combination of joy and embarrassment. I didn’t know what to make of it. It was the mixed signals again. He hadn’t needed to bring me home. Claire would have come home with me. But he’d insisted. According to him, we were just friends, but his actions seemed so much more than friendship. So why wouldn’t he let things go further?

It was confusing and frustrating.

The smell of toast drifted in, as the door creaked open. I cringed, pulling the duvet over my head, hiding from the light—and the man who made my head spin for reasons far beyond tequila.

“Come on out, Marcie, you need to drink some water and eat something,” Anton said, his voice holding a faint trace of amusement.

“No,” I said, pouting, my voice muffled through the cotton barrier of my self-imposed cocoon.

He chuckled. “Have some water, then eat your toast. It will help. It’ll soak up the… tequila and whatever else it was you drank.”

A muffled laugh escaped me despite my embarrassment. “I don’t think there’s enough toast in the UK to do that.”

“Well, you need to try,” he said, with that infuriating calmness that always made it hard to tell what he was thinking. How did he always manage to stay so collected when I felt like a hurricane had torn through my brain?

Peeking out from under the duvet, I caught a glimpse of him, standing by the bed with a plate in one hand and a soft, knowing smile on his lips. God, even hungover and miserable, I couldn’t help but be drawn to him. It wasn’t fair.

He set the plate down on the nightstand, his eyes flicking to me briefly before he straightened. “Here, take this water and these painkillers,” he said, holding them out to me.

Groaning, I forced myself to sit up and take them. Gulping the pills down quickly, I took several more sips of water, letting the cool liquid soothe my sore throat, which was raspy from all the loud talking, shouting and singing I’d done.

“Good girl,” Anton murmured as he sat on the bed beside me. My breath caught in my throat, and I froze. Did he know what those two little words did to me? Heat flooded my cheeks. I hoped not. After last night, I couldn’t take any more humiliation.

Anton handed me the plate of toast, and I forced myself to nibble on the edge of a slice while avoiding his gaze.

We sat in silence as I chewed, sipping water between bites. All the while, I couldn’t stop wondering—did he think I was a good girl? The thought made my chest tighten with a mix of desire and shame. God, was I ever going to get over this unrequited crush?

The air between us was thick with so many things left unsaid. My mind kept urging me to speak—anything to break the tension. Maybe a joke to lighten the mood. But all I could do was stare at his thigh as he sat so close to me, with my mind replaying every moment there had ever been between us. Everybrush of his hand against mine, every look that made me think he might just let his guard down. The press of his body against me, and those two glorious kisses we’d shared. And then the rejection that always followed.

Biting back a groan of shame, I gulped another mouthful of water. Anton had made it very clear that no matter our attraction, he didn’t want me and I had pushed the issue. I might not understand what the problem was, but I should respect his wishes. I had to apologise.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I blurted out, my voice hoarse and croaky.

“You don’t need to apologise, Marcie. You were drunk. Forget about it,” he said, and that just made me feel so much worse.

“I was embarrassing,” I added, burying my face in my hands.

There was a long pause, and when I peeked through my fingers, Anton was watching me, his gaze softer than I expected. “You weren’t embarrassing,” he said quietly. “You had a good time. That’s what birthday parties are for.”

But that wasn’t what I meant, and we both knew it. However, we were obviously back to skirting the issue again.

I didn’t want to deal with this thing between us right now. My head was pounding, and if the bile in my throat was anything to go by, the water and toast were about to make a reappearance. I really didn’t want Anton to see that. My cheeks burned with humiliation as I remembered him holding my hair back while I threw up all over him, and later when he’d brought me home and stayed by my side in the bathroom. He’d seen me at my absolute worst.But he’s still here, that annoying little voice in my head reminded me.

“Thank you… for everything,” I said, forcing myself to keep a tight hold on my stomach’s contents.

“No problem, Marcie,” he replied, pausing before mumbling, “That’s what friends are for.”

Friends.Yes, there it was again. That subtle reminder that we would never be anything else. I swallowed hard. God, why did that thought make me feel worse than this bloody hangover?

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