Protect Me Not ((Un)Professionally Yours 2)

“And he only mentioned it today?”

Vicki shrugged and grabbed another handful of popcorn. “She was absent last week, and he had to help out in the shop. I’m thinking it pissed him off.”

Somehow the words didn’t ring true. It hadn’t earlier either when she had mentioned the same theory to Bella.

“Where’s Stephen?” she asked, keen to change the subject.

“At home. We just spent the weekend together. We each need a little ‘me’ time.”

“Shouldn’t you want to spend every waking moment together?”

He laughed. “No, you numpty, not if we want to stay sane. Some couples can do the constant togetherness, Stephen and I know our limitations. A little breathing room is great for our relationship. It suits us.”

Vicki shrugged, not really that invested. Not yet. Even though he claimed that he and Stephen were now a couple, it was early days. And while she hoped this one would work out for Hugh, she had comforted him through enough break ups to know that the odds were high he would somehow ruin this relationship. He would find some small fault in Stephen-mildly annoying at first—but then he’d fret and obsess over it until it became an insurmountable stumbling block and destroyed any happiness he found with the guy.

Her brother excelled at self-sabotage when it came to his relationships, and his OCD often provided him with the perfect excuse to get out before he fully committed.

“So, Mum’s getting married,” she said, thinking another change in subject was in order. Hugh grinned.

“Isn’t it fabulous?” he enthused.

“Absolutely. I’m going to be her maid of honor.”

“Well, I’m going to be the best man.”

“Maid of honor is better,” Vicki dismissed.

“The best man has important responsibilities. I have to safeguard the rings.”

“I get to go wedding dress shopping with Mum.”

“So do I.”

“No! That’s not fair. That’s my job.”

“You have questionable taste. I wouldn’t trust you to advise Mum on something so important.”

“Shove off, there’s nothing wrong with my taste.”

“This boho chic look you’re rocking is so early 2000’s. Mum would be better off taking advice from someone with a more refined aesthetic.”

“The horror you perpetrated on my bedroom is not the work of someone with a refined aesthetic.”

Her room was a huge bone of contention between them. Hugh had redecorated it about six months ago, without Vicki’s knowledge or consent. She had been away on a weekend spa retreat with their mother and had come home to that monstrosity of a room. Hugh’s revenge for being left out of the loop on the birthday treat she had planned for their mother. Her spa retreat had quite nicely upstaged Hugh’s unimaginative offering of a new mobile phone. His retaliation had been swift and well-executed. And Vicki was still suffering because of it.

“I was catering to your taste. You always liked pink.”

“When I was ten.” It was a familiar argument and they settled into it comfortably. Because Vicki and Hugh were very close in age—twenty-eight and thirty, respectively—they’d always been the fiercest of rivals and the best of friends.

Vicki refused to redecorate the room, adamant that Hugh change it back to the way it had been before. And Hugh had sworn to “get to it soon” but never seemed to get around to actually delivering on that promise. Vicki knew that she was cutting off her own nose to spite her face—the pink was obnoxious and distracting—but she refused to give Hugh the satisfaction of accepting defeat.

They both knew how childish the situation was, but they brought out the worst—and often the best—in each other.

She didn’t feel like arguing about her obnoxiously pink room right now. She just wanted to sit here for a few minutes and unwind. Hugh seemed to sense that and left her to mull over her day in silence, occasionally offering her more popcorn.

The movie—a badly dubbed B-grade martial arts film—was loud and dumb enough for her to simply stare blankly at the screen without having to process anything. The endless, colorful action sequences soon lulled her into a doze.

“Vic.” Her brother’s voice, and a not-so-gentle elbow to her ribs, jolted her out of her sleep.

Her head jerked up. “Wha—?”

“You’re starting to drool on my neck.” Understanding that her head must have drifted to his shoulder while she snoozed, she scowled, and pushed her curls out of her face, before swiping her wrist across her lips.

“Sorry, I must be more tired than I thought.” Her words were slurred.

“Have you eaten?”

“Hmm, Ty bought take out.” His eyebrows sprang up to his hairline, and Vicki realized that she had let the never-before-used nickname slip.

Surprisingly, he let it slide, merely suggesting, “Well, why don’t you call it a night and head up to bed?”

“I think I’ll have a bath first,” she said smothering another yawn.

“Good idea, leave the door unlocked in case I have to save your lethargic bum from drowning.”