He nods, solemn, but the light in his eyes isn’t diminished one bit. “Agreed. Why don’t we say a week, as a trial period? Come over on Saturday, then bugger off next weekend—if we don’t kill each other before then.”
“Or if I catch you sniffing my laundry on a Wednesday.”
“I wouldnever.”
I laugh and the mood is light, but for a moment it’s like I’ve been tossed in an unexpected squall and I’m groping my way toward safety. Is this a terrible idea or a great one? I genuinely don’t know. I tuck my hair behind my ears and pick up my bag.
Lachlan watches me rise from the couch, and there’s something almost like desperation in his expression. “You could stay here tonight, if you don’t want to face your soiled sheets.”
“Thanks, but I should go back and deal with Fiona. And if they’re in my bed again, well, it’s been fun knowing you, but I will be walking straight into the river.”
“The only appropriate course of action.” He stands up and opens his arms wide for a hug; I gladly slide in.
“Thanks again,” I say, taking in the smell of his shirt, a fresh, clean scent. “You’re a good friend.”
“Aye, and an even better flatmate. Just you wait.”
—
I finally stop arguing with myself three days after Lachlan asks me to move in—just in the nick of time to actually, you know, move. Since most of my worldly possessions are either in my parents’ basement or decorating the new apartment Steven is sharing withher,it only takes a few trips up and down the stairs of Fiona’s flatto cram everything into the back of the Range Rover. Oliver is there, skulking in a corner until he works up the nerve to ask Lachlan for his autograph. Lachlan takes the proffered slip of paper and spins me around to use my back as a table. He returns it to Oliver, who frowns. “What does it say?”
“It says ‘Fuck in your own bed. xoxo, Lachlan Ramsay.’ ”
I stifle the biggest laugh as Oliver turns a deep red. Lachlan claps him on the shoulder. “Only joking, mate. You can fuck wherever you want now.”
I can’t keep my joy bottled up for a second longer, so I give Fiona a half-assed hug, I lie directly to her face about grabbing coffee soon, and then Lachlan and I are zooming into the city center.
Lachlan has a natural buoyancy that’s immediately apparent on meeting him—it’s what makes him such an asset in the dressing room. But today, it’s even more palpable than usual. He keeps glancing over at me at stoplights, a grin on his face like he’s a little kid on his way to Disney World. It’s infectious, really, and enough to drive the final nail in the coffin of my doubts about this move. Nothing that makes him this happy can be bad.
Back in his—our?—flat, Lachlan shows me my bedroom suite. He’s got a devilish little smile plastered on, and I wonder if I’m about to be punked and there will be a child’s race car bed or it will be the laundry room or, somehow, through a wrinkle in the space-time continuum, Fiona and Oliver will be fucking each other’s brains out here as well. But the door swings open and on first glance it looks like a normal, lovely, empty adult bedroom. And then I see what’s tickling him so much: Leaning against the pillows are at least twenty bags of Wotsits. I look at him and match his grin. “Nice touch, my friend. Very well done.”
He throws his arms around me from behind, his forearmscrossing under my chin. I give him a little pat as he squeezes me. “If the Mersey nutritionist finds out I’m eating Wotsits, there will be hell to pay, so I hope it’s worth it. And it goes without saying, but the cost will be deducted from your rent.”
My heart does a little stutter step. Oh, right. Rent. I dislodge his arms and turn to face him, the blush already creeping up my neck. “I’m so sorry, I’m just now realizing we didn’t talk about what the rent would be. Obviously this is way nicer than what I had at Fiona’s, but also, if you’ll recall, I am very poor, so I hope we can work out some sort of deal.”
He bursts out laughing. “Abby, are you serious? You think I’m going to charge you rent?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you.”
He puts his hands on my shoulders. He’s trying to be serious, but he can’t disguise the mirth that radiates from him like sunshine, a golden glow that’s tumbling forth from every pore. “I don’t want to be a dick, Stripes, but I make more in one week than you make in a year.”
“It’s actually more than I’d make in three years,” I mumble. I looked it up soon after meeting him, obviously, because googling rich people is why they invented the internet.
To his credit, he doesn’t laugh at my poverty. “That is actually mad, and I have half a mind to talk to Charlotte about getting you a pay rise.” He does laugh then, at the look of bald panic on my face, then gives my shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “Calm down, I won’t. My point is…actually, my points are, one: You should be paid way more and I should be paid way less, and two: I am not going to ask you to pay rent. You’re doing me a favor, in all honesty. I’m going mental rattling around in here all alone.”
“Well, what about some sort of in-kind payment? I’ll make you breakfast every day or always take the trash out, or whatever.”
“Abby.” He shakes me. “I promise, all you have to do is let me watch you shower whenever I want, and we’ll be even.”
I laugh and shove his chest. “You’re disgusting, you know that?”
“You have no idea,” he says. “Now come on, we have a dinner booking in five hours and we have three, maybe four boxes to unpack before then. It’s a race against time!”
“Get out of here and leave me and my sad little boxes alone.”
He laughs and closes the door behind him. As soon as he’s on the other side, the reality of what’s just happened hits me. I’m living with Lachlan Ramsay.TheLachlan Ramsay. Too many thoughts are colliding in my head and I can’t process them fast enough. But one seems to be winning out, growing louder and louder as it squashes all the lesser thoughts: This is either going to be amazing…or the biggest mistake I’ve ever made in my life.
Chapter Nineteen
