But if I have to eat his coq au vin, so be it. Elliott needs to get kitted out.
‘What’s his style?’ Tim enquires, leading the way to his bedroom.
‘Uh, dunno. Casual, I guess?’ I reply as he slides open the pine-panelled wardrobe door that stretches along the left-hand wall. Inside are hangers of neatly pressed shirts andsuits, designer for business and linen for casual, and shelves of jeans and T-shirts. While he’s rifling through his clothes, I sit on the super king-sized bed. The bedding smells of him—Old Spice aftershave and Imperial Leather soap. I’ve been in here plenty of times, and it never fails to amaze me how neat and tidy he is; there’s not a pair of dirty socks on the floor or a bodybuilding magazine out of place on the nightstand. HisPlayboys are safely out of sight in the cupboard, but I know they’re there because I read his mind, and he feels guilty that he looks at them. He thinks I’d be upset if I knew.
Honestly? I don’t give a shit if he wants to look at 2D tits and pussy.
I lean back on the bed, propping myself up on my elbows as Tim pulls out various items, muttering to himself. I’d love a top-floor bedroom like this. It’s spacious and airy with cream carpet and cornflower-blue walls. A big white-framed bay window with a tartan padded seat looks out onto a leafy park. It’s south facing, but too much sun isn’t really an issue in Edinburgh, even in summer. Sitting on the window seat on a grey day, watching the rain clouds roll in across the treetops would be soothing. I think about my poky basement room and feel a twinge of jealousy. Oh well, one day.
At least I have a hot guy currently inhabiting my room,even if he doesn’t want to be there. I should probably feel guilty about that ...
Tim flops a load of clothes on the bed next to me and says, ‘Will any of this do? They’re clean. I just don’t wear them anymore.’
I look through them briefly. Apart from jeans and T-shirts, he’s included some smart jumpers and a dark-blue coat as well. ‘Yeah, thanks. Elliott will be grateful to have some warm stuff to wear.’Otherwise, he’ll have to make do with a hot water bottle with a pink knitted cover.
‘What did he actually bring with him?’ asks Tim curiously.
‘Er, a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and he’s wearing those.’
Tim scrunches up his handsome face. ‘He knew he was coming to Edinburgh for two weeks in winter, and he didn’t pack any clothes?’
‘He’s staunch,’ I reply. ‘He’s from Orkney.’
‘Oh.’ Tim doesn’t look convinced. It does sound a bit suspect, I have to admit. He glances at me lying on the bed, and a flicker of desire crosses his face. His thoughts are torn between making out and concern that his coq au vin will burn. I play on that as I don’t particularly want to get intimate at the moment.
I lift my nose into the air and sniff. ‘Can you smell something?’
‘Shit,’ Tim mutters and races off to the kitchen. I gather up the clothes in my arms and trail after him, calculating how long I need to stay for the sake of politeness. I really need to get back to Elliott and see to his dinner. I’ve been feeding him peanut butter sandwiches, but he’s getting angry about that. Ooh, maybe I can say I’m not feeling well and get some of the coq au vin to go?
I lean against the doorjamb while Tim stirs and tastes from the pot again. ‘Any chance I could get dinner to go? It smells great.’
He turns and stares at me. ‘What?’
‘I’m not feeling too well, time of the month and all that. But I might be able to manage some of it later on. Sorry, I know you’ve gone to a lot of trouble.’
Tim’s mouth tightens. He yanks open a nearby drawer, rummages around noisily, and grabs a Tupperware container. With a pair of tongs, he takes out two chicken legs, chucks them into the container, and slops in a few spoonfuls of the gravy, then adds some vegetables and rice. He bangs on the lid of the container and holds it out to me. ‘Here,’ he snaps.
I take the container and place it on top of my armful of clothes. ‘Thanks.’ I feel a bit bad, but I didn’t ask him to cook for me. There’s no need to have a temper tantrum.
Tim’s jaw is clenched, and his brow is corrugated.
‘Well, I guess I should—’ I say, taking a step backwards.
‘Do you even like me, Sadie?’ he blurts.
I hitch a shoulder defensively. ‘Of course I like you. Why even ask that?’
He folds his arms and glares at me. ‘Because from where I’m standing, I’m not getting that impression. You want to see me when it’s convenient for you. I think you’re using me.’
I readjust the clothes, trying to keep the container from sliding off. What he said is true actually. I can’t deny it. For the last six months, I’ve been coming up here for sex and a feed (and I don’t mean his home cooking).
But I don’t do well with confrontation. He’s backing me into a corner.
‘Perhaps it’s best we break up then,’ I say calmly. ‘If you feel like that.’
Tim’s lips part, and his eyes widen. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Yeah,’ I say, getting on a roll. ‘This isn’t really working for me. And being forced into having dinner when I’m feeling ill with period cramps, well ... that’s not cool.’
