There had been rumours about Taylor and Jamie for as long as I had been friends with them.
When the drinks were flowing freely—an environment in which my friends and I frequently found ourselves—it was common for a mention of their names to elicit a cheeky smirk, a shy smile, an exchange of furtive, knowing glances.
“They have a blog, you know…” slurred a friend one night, before being nudged into silence by their partner.
“Oh?” I chuckled, raising an eyebrow.
Intriguing as the idea was, I put it to the back of my mind. Rumours are merely rumours, and people are entitled to their business.
A few weeks later, I found myself the last one standing at the bar with Taylor and Jamie. The rest of our friends had retired earlier that evening, but the three of us seemed to be in the mood to keep things rolling, so we found a cozy booth in a quiet little dive bar and settled in.
“Heyyyyy…?” asked Taylor. “Is your number still…”
He recited my phone number; I nodded.