The first time she'd heard Robbie Jennings described as a "sex god," Georgia Nicolson had announced it with the confidence of someone delivering a verified scientific fact.
Her friends had nodded solemnly.
She had nearly laughed.
Because honestly?
The few times she'd seen Robbie around school, he'd seemed suspiciously normal for a deity.
Gods probably didn't forget homework. Gods probably didn't wear mismatched socks. Gods probably didn't nearly fall off their bikes trying to wave at friends.
Then she'd started dating him.
Which only made the whole thing funnier.
Now she was sitting cross-legged on the carpet of the Jennings living room while Robbie occupied the sofa behind her, lazily strumming an unplugged guitar. The television muttered quietly in the corner. His parents were out. Tom was off with Jas somewhere. The house felt pleasantly empty.
Robbie was halfway through massacring a song he only vaguely knew.
"That was terrible," he informed himself.
Another chord.
"Worse."
Another.
"Actually getting worse."
The grin never left his face.
When the teasing question finally arrived, Robbie stopped playing.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
Then he lowered the guitar.
"Sorry."
A pause.
"What?"
The question was repeated.
Are you a sex god?
Robbie stared.
Then burst out laughing.
Not a cool laugh.
Not a suave laugh.
A full-body, head-thrown-back laugh that nearly made him drop the guitar.
"Oh my God."
He covered his face.
"No."
Another laugh escaped.
"No, absolutely not."
His shoulders shook.
"Who said that?"
The answer was apparently obvious.
His eyes narrowed immediately.
"Georgia."
A beat.
"Wasn't it?"
He pointed accusingly.
"It was Georgia."
More laughter.
"I knew it."
He dropped his head back against the sofa.
"Do you know how embarrassing that is?"
The look she gave him seemed to suggest he was coping remarkably well.
"I'm not!" Robbie protested. "It's mortifying."
He sat forward.
"Imagine walking around knowing somebody's gone about telling people that."
His hands flew up dramatically.
"'That's Robbie. He's a sex god.'"
The words came out in a ridiculous imitation of Georgia's voice.
Then he dissolved into laughter again.
"You know what I was doing when that rumour started?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
"I got my head stuck in a rail at the beach."
Silence.
Robbie nodded.
"Exactly."
The case seemed airtight.
"You don't hear about actual sex gods getting rescued by lifeguards."
He shook his head.
"They'd lose the title immediately."
The guitar slid onto the sofa beside him.
He looked down at her with a grin.
"Honestly, I reckon most gir.ls at school would be disappointed."
That was intriguing.
Robbie shrugged.
"They expect some mysterious bloke who writes poetry and stares into sunsets."
His expression brightened.
"Instead they get me."
A beat.
"I once tried to make toast and set off the smoke alarm."
Another beat.
"The toast wasn't even burnt."
The laughter returned.
It was impossible not to laugh with him.
That was one of the things she liked most about being his gir.lfriend. Robbie never seemed interested in pretending to be cooler than he actually was.
Eventually his smile softened.
"Besides," he said, nudging her shoulder lightly with his foot, "you've been dating me long enough now."
The grin returned immediately.
"If I was secretly a sex god, I reckon you'd have noticed."
He looked genuinely pleased with himself for that one.