With a sigh, he puts his phone down. “Yeah, but you and quiet Sutton Common are going to have to put up with me for a bit longer.”
Confused, I pull away slightly to stare at him. “Why?”
Is he holding out for Stefan? With a shrug, Alaric dips his head to lean across, the better to see out of the smeary window, treating me to a noseful of freshly cut grass. There’s nothing much out there, except scrubby patches of land and the backsides of some dreary Victorian terraces.
His hand settles on my knee, giving it the slightest of squeezes. “I’m picky, Big G. The ladies were great, and, don’t get me wrong, it was a really nice flat in a super nice location.” He treats me to his sincere, gappy, bone-melting smile. “But not that nice. If I compare it to what I’ve got at the moment, with you, the aggro of moving isn’t worth it.”
Satisfied with the scenery, his gaze drops back down to the game on his phone, where he’s just puthonanon a triple word score. Another word I’m going to have to covertly look up when I recover from my immense sag of relief. The ladies’ flat was perfect so I can only assume Stefan and Marcus have had the mother of all rows. What other explanation could there be?
This is nothing but a stay of execution. A form of mercy, but in slow motion.
“Honan is a type of fabric,” Alaric murmurs, the smart-arse fucker. “Made from silkworms.”
CHAPTER 21
ALARIC
Midnight comes and goes. Despite wrapping myself up on the sitting room floor, like a bug in a rug, in Gerald’s lovely, snuggly spare duvet, the circus inside my head is still having open mic night. Stefan took up twenty minutes or so of the earlier show. He’s fallen out with Marcus—again. Half an hour ago, he signed off for the night, so now it’s just wired little old me for company. Over and over, I retrace the tour of the nice ladies’ flat. It’s chic and cool and right next to the bloody hospital. Twenty minutes’ Tube from Luke, ten from Stefan. Five from my favourite pizza place. And the ladies bloody loved me.
So why the hell didn’t it feel right? Is it because I’d be there on my own most weekends? If so, what cracked decision-making. Having the flat to myself means my weekends will instantly revert to how they used to be: work, dancing, shagging, crashing. I won’t have time to feel lonely.
Even stickler, pedantic Gerald approved. Speaking of Gerald…
Lolling in the doorway, not hiding his yawn, Gerald’s all fluffy chaotic bedhead and heavy-lidded eyes. His rumpledpyjamas look soft as clouds. I’ve never been a pyjama person, but Gerald rocks them nearly as well as he rocks the blue satin shirt. “What the hell are you doing still up? It’s nearly two.”
“Technically speaking, I’m not up. I’m on the floor.”
“Alaric.” He sighs in that long suffering, nose-pinching way he has. “Tell me why you can’t sleep.”
Where do I start? With the ladies in the nice flat? Stefan’s woes? Or do I admit a hefty chunk of my anxiety circles around Gerald’s big day tomorrow at the regional finals? He’d think me an idiot if I confess my mind refuses to switch off on his behalf.
“TikTok won’t scroll itself,” I say instead.
“That’s displacement activity to pass the time. Not a proper answer.”
My eyes are on a level with his wide, solid feet. “Don’t dismiss it. I’m culturally enriching myself. I’ve just learned five ways to fold a fitted sheet and how to politely request a blowjob in Japanese.”
“No Japanese man—or woman—will be giving you a blowjob as long as you’re living under my roof.”
That sounds more like a declaration of war than an opinion. I squint up at him. “What’s your beef with the Japanese, Big G? Had some dodgy sushi?”
Gerald’s big foot gives my duvet roll a little kick. “I don’t havebeefwith the Japanese. And you still haven’t given me a proper answer. Am I going to have to stand here all night?”
If his voice wasn’t so teacherish and his slugbrows so stern, I’d suggest he lie down all night instead. With me. And put that teacherish voice to better use by ordering me to sleep or fuck or give him a blowjob.
“Declining the ladies’ flat is bugging me,” I admit at last. “I can’t understand why I didn’t grab it with both hands. But also, I’m nervous and stressed about your performance tomorrow,even though you aren’t, and even though we both know you’re going to smash the competition to smithereens.”
“We don’t know that,” he says with a hint of a smile. He puts up with such a lot of shit from me, and at all hours, with the patience of a saint.
“I can’t work out why I turned down the flat. I hate living out in the ‘burbs. I’m usually great at making snap decisions.”
“I don’t know either.”
I bet he wishes I hadn’t. If I crawl over to his whopping, solid feet, will he let me circle my arms around his ankles and rest my head on them? This is exactly the type of fucking weird thought that ambushes my brain in the wee small hours when it’s running on nothing but fumes, vape juice, and the dregs of yesterday’s chaotic energy.
His feet do look solid and comfy, though.
Gerald blinks a few times, scratches his head, then exhales through his big nose with the force of someone trying their level best not to swear. No wonder, as we sat together on the train, he praised the ladies and their nice flat. I bet he can’t wait until he’s got this place back to himself.
