Shit.
“I don’t have a guest room,” he replied flatly.
“So what? I’m sleeping in your bed. Like I have for the past…what…month or something.”
“Two weeks and six days.”
“So you kept track.”
“Not hard to.”
I liked that he stood up to me. That we sparred like this. I liked that he fought back. It made me feel…
Strong. Because I was. And when I wanted something?
“You can’t just turn this into something it’s not, Oliver. We’re friends and yes, we got close and it was great, and I couldn’t have done this without you and…”
“AND!” I filled in, my voice too loud.
“I treated you…unfairly.” Oh, so now he was admitting to something. Good.
“You treated me like shit. In the end? You were an arse.”
“Maybe,” he said softly. “So you’re staying?”
The bastard. Changing the subject like that.
“I’m staying. Because if I go home, I will just go mad trying to figure this out. So I’m staying. And maybe I’m the arsehole here, pushing myself on you like this, but… It makes sense! It makes a lot of sense, and at the end of the day?” I had to stop. Breathe. Let out steam.
He calmly took a sip of his tea.
“Thank you for the tea. Tea always tastes better when someone else makes it for you. Don’t you think?”
I wanted to roll my eyes. I wanted to scream.
I did neither. I just sat there. Reached out and lifted the cup in front of me. Took a sip. Placed it back down. Calm and collected.
“No more shouting,” I said sternly. “It makes me nervous, so stop fighting this so hard.”
“I’m not fighting anything,” he said. “And you were the one shouting.”
His hands were shaking. Mine were not. It made me… I don’t know. Brave? Like I had finally turned a corner here.
But he was…my Peter. My old, stupid, grey Peter. He hadn’t shaved, and the softening stubble on his skin gave him a silvery sheen. A small smile was once again brewing on his face. Oh yes. He just couldn’t help himself. And neither could I.
“Stop it,” I said softly. “Because I know what you’re doing, and your stupid games won’t work on me. I’m going to look after you, and make you tea and get you out of this…this whatever state you’re in. Mary agrees with me.”
Stupid. Insensitive to the max, but here I went. Hell or high water. Because if I didn’t?
I was Oliver Jacobs. I got the job done. I wrote out the contract and got the client to sign. And I hadn’t gone into this with a view to come out empty-handed.
“We’re not on the show anymore,” he tried…weakly. He knew it as well.
“No, we’re not,” I agreed.
“Then what are we?”
A valid question.
