“I washed them?” he offers, as if that might be my issue here.
I make a face. He can’t see it in the darkness, but I make it, nonetheless. “Washing them doesn’t make them any less clumpy. My statement stands. You take the bed. It’s only fair.”
“What if we build a pillow fort between us?”
“I’m not the one who’s worried about sharing a bed.”
He’s standing now, a tall, dark figure with the navy sky outlining his head from the window behind him. “Well,I’mnot bothered.”
A forbidden thrill runs through my body. “Fine. Let’s share the bed. If you think it will help you recover?”
“I already said this isn’t for me. I’m just hoping you’ll stop harassing me and let me sleep in peace.”
“Right. Sure.”
He helps me up from the floor, then places his pillow down on his side as I do the same on mine. He then proceeds to roll the knitted throw up long ways and lies it down through the middle of the bed. “There you go.”
I sniff a laugh. “Practically twin beds.”
I can’t see his face properly, but I swear I see that cheeky glint sparkle in his eye as he climbs onto the mattress. He’s only wearing boxer shorts, which is the same as the night before, except he had a sheet wrapped around him all night, so it wasn’t even an issue. Now, it feels quite a bit more intimate.
He’s certainly not shy. That’s for sure.
“Did you check your bank account by the way?” he asks.
“Yes. Your sister sent a grand. I won’t need it all, so if you send me your details, I’ll transfer the rest back.”
“Sure,” he says, sarcastically. “I’ll do that.”
“Gus…”
“I’ll sort my sister out. You don’t need to worry about her, she has plenty of money. She won’t even miss it.”
I consider fighting it but instead, I roll over, throwingmy legs out of the bed and say, “I’m just going to nip to the loo.”
There’s a small wooden staircase between the main bedroom and the cramped hall that leads to the bathroom. I’m not sure if it’s the wine, or the cocktails, or the stupid, misplaced adrenaline rushing through my limbs that does it, maybe it’s simply that my body is tired from all the walking in shitty, unsupportive shoes, but either way, my body and brain don’t collaborate, and I mess up my footing on stairs.
My ankle feels like it snaps in half.
“Argh!” I yip. My hands save my face from smacking against the tiled floor but pain lurches like fire through my lower leg.
His shadow is over me in seconds, his hand on my upper arm.
“What happened?”
“I fucking tripped. What an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. It’s dark and you don’t know the place.”
“Still…” I whimper. Pathetic. “I don’t have time for this.Wedon’t.”
Gus breathes out slowly as he tells me to close my eyes and pops the light on. I slowly peek through shuttered lids at him kneeling by my legs. He stares at my already swelling ankle, mystified.
“Not much for first aid?” I ask.
He cringes. “Can’t say I’ve ever had to do it.”
I roll my eyes. “Just help me up, Popstar. I’ll need some ice.”
