I breathed a sigh of relief I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. “I don’t talk about it often. One time, I hooked up with this bloke on Scruff, and he legit walked out when I said I was bi.”
Jude grimaced. “That’s misogyny, and it has nothing to do with being queer. I know it’s hard, but don’t take that shit personally.”
How did he know I had? That I’d cried in the shower for a solid hour after the man had left? He didn’t, obviously, but it felt like he did. That he’d flayed me open with his keen gaze and I needed to slam the shutters down before I lost control.
I stood and reached for my jacket.
Jude arched an eyebrow. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, I’ve, er, got to get home.”
“Where is home?”
“London.”
“I thought you might live around here.”
“I don’t.” I hated how clipped my voice had become. Sometimes I hated every single thing about myself and the only cure was to be the cold bastard I sounded like. “Anyway, thanks for today. You should really let me pay you more. A hundred quid doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“You’re offering me money after sucking my dick?”
“No.” I shrugged into my coat. “I’m just saying you undercharged me in the first place.”
“For a kid’s party that’s already happened. Don’t flannel me with bullshit, Isha. If you’re twitchy enough to run out on me, just do it.”
I stopped fiddling with my coat and gave myself up to the full force of Jude’s unyielding stare. “I’m not…” But the argument died on my lips, because I was running out on him. I just didn’t know why. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucked up, and I can’t deny it. Maybe one day I won’t piss you off enough for you to give me that death glare.”
“Isha—”
I tapped my finger to his lips and walked out.
* * *
“What’s wrong?”
I shot Dom an irritated glance. “Why are you asking me that?”
Dom stone-faced me, and it reminded me so much of Jude I had to look away.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I shuffled the blueprints spread out on the table between us. “I’m tired, man. Hosting an eight-year old’s birthday party was worse than a night out on the razz.”
“You don’t go out on the razz.”
“I don’t do kid’s parties either. Turns out I’m not Mary Poppins after all.”
Dom said nothing, and I didn’t have to face him to know he was narrowing his eyes and folding his arms across his chest. I also didn’t have to give a shit. He wasn’t my damn mother.
I drew the plans for the small block of flats towards me. “Did we get an answer from the fire safety people about insulation?”
Another beat of silence passed. Then Dom sighed and jabbed his finger on a folder I hadn’t got round to opening yet. “They sent over a list of suppliers they’ve approved. They’re all more expensive than we planned for, but I’m not compromising on safety.”
I nodded with absolute agreement. By chance, we’d both been in Kensington the night of the Grenfell Tower fire. We’d watched it burn, and never spoken of it since, but its shadow never faded. “Pick one. I’ll make the numbers work.”
“We pay accountants for that shit.”
“Uh-huh. You think I don’t check their sums?”
Dom snorted. “I think you spend too much time checking and not enough living. When was the last time you did something that wasn’t work?”
