The thrill of joy I felt last night, this morning, is replaced by the slow tug of reality. I don’t know if I’m stupid for not being able to believe in Lachlan unless he’s in front of me or stupid for ever believing him at all. The only thing not in question is that I’m some kind of stupid.
Nothing’s changed. A few declarations don’t mean squat.
Whether Lachlan has genuine feelings for Kari doesn’t matter when I’m stuck in the exact same relationship I thought I left back in Auckland. A sidepiece to a popular boy. Someone to keep in the background while the public-facing partner gets all the glory.
I back away, heading for home, the aches and pains in mybody throbbing with renewed vigour. The journey passes with unbearable slowness. By the time I walk up the front path, I’m ready to curl up in bed and do nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The top drawer of my bedside cabinet is slightly askew. I jiggle it until it opens and then, just before I close it flush, I see why.
The beautiful jewellery Lachlan gave to me at the dance has gone. So are the few twenties I keep tucked in the back for emergencies.
See? Stupid.
Dad isn’t home now but he must have paid a visit while I was out and stole the only things of value. If I didn’t have my mother’s rings on my hand, he would have taken those as well.
I slam the drawer shut with an angry shove, utterly defeated.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LOCK
I’m notsure what hours George works, so keep checking my phone for a message that never arrives. Surely even the most industrious employee can’t spend all day at the restaurant. It annoys me I never got the name of the new workplace from her, so I can’t even check the opening hours to see if I’m correct.
My own tasks took less than two hours to perform. Apparently, my father remembers something about the morning after a school dance because he went easy on me today. Just a meeting, during which I said all of ten words, most of them in greeting.
Learning the ropes is a lesson in patience—a thing of which I have an increasingly short supply.
I hang around the common room at Kingswood, waiting and hoping that every buzz of my phone will be George. Afternoon turns to night, and I still haven’t seen or heard from her. I’m worried.
Finally, I can’t stand it any longer. I need to see her. Kari hastalked my ear off about everything and anything under the sun until I just want to be in George’s comparatively quiet company. Doing comparatively quiet things to her body while she makes comparatively quiet moans of appreciation.
At her house, I work out her room from my internal references and study the window. No locks. The sash has a small gap at the base either because it’s ill-fitting or she’s left it open a bit for some air.
Or she might have left it that way in the expectation she would have a creeper.
I lift it up, pausing when the painted wood squeals an objection. When there’s a large enough gap to fit through, I pull aside the curtain, smiling when I see George curled on the bed, fast asleep.
She’s got a loose t-shirt and sweatpants on and is asleep on top of the covers, despite the chill night. It looks like she only meant to lie down for a second but succumbed to exhaustion, perhaps tired out by this morning’s activities, and last night.
I’m quiet as I can be shuffling through the gap, taking off my shoes and stripping my clothes off in an untidy heap, before joining her on the bed.
It’s not as narrow as my single at Kingswood but it’s not large enough to count as a double. If she weren’t crowded so far onto one side, there wouldn’t be much room spare.
George gives a gentle huff, then settles back into her dream.
My arm is probably cold when I wrap it around her waist, but she doesn’t move, doesn’t protest, doesn’t shift an inch. I tilt my forehead to rest against her nape, my breathing falling into synch with hers.
The rush of emotion is bittersweet. I want this every night. More than this. My natural impatience is stomping around,yelling at me to progress everything so I can take what I want right now.
I press my lips to the top of her spine, leaving them in place while I inhale deeply, smelling the clean scent of her skin. Underneath the soap and shampoo is a slight musk, George’s natural smell. As perfect and attractive as the rest of her.
My fingers twitch, wanting to slide upwards and cup her tits, have her nipples harden under my palms, tweak them until she moans in a mix of pleasure and pain.
It might wake her. It might not. I weigh up the pros and cons.
George stirs, pressing her rear back against me, squeezing her thighs together as she utters a soft moan.
My girl is getting it on in dreamland.
