Chapter 25 #2
“Yes, but only because it’s easier and cheaper.
I usually pop to the supermarket with his shopping list—he’s very particular—whilst he takes the neighbour’s dog out.
” Luke will assume that means for a walk, not a samba.
“Then we meet up so he can help me carry the shopping home.” And I can admire his muscles as he hefts the shopping bags.
“He’s very quiet,” Luke observes. “He’s only spoken to you and Isaac all night.”
I consider for a second. “Yes, but he’s not shy, just super introverted.
He likes his own company, and I dig that.
But once he’s comfortable around you, he’s an interesting guy.
He knows a lot about literature and the arts, for instance.
” I laugh briefly, remembering last night’s tussle over the TV remote.
It ended in Gerald straddling my chest and squeezing my nipples until I agreed to change the channel.
And seeing as my mouth was literally only centimetres from his dick and there was only some quiz show shite on the telly anyhow, not sucking it would have been churlish.
“At the moment, he’s got me watching a crap series about Nureyev.
I keep threatening him with a ticket to the Royal Ballet. ”
I puff out a long stream of smoke, vowing this packet of cigs will be my last. Surprisingly, Gerald doesn’t object to the taste, but he hates the smell on my clothes afterwards.
According to him, when I don’t smoke, I smell like his dad’s front lawn during the summer, which he swears is a good thing.
“Knowing Gerald, he’ll insist on two tickets to make me suffer alongside him. ”
Luke’s watching me, one eyebrow slightly higher than the other, as he takes a glug of lager.
“You know you sound like you’re dating him?”
“Please!” I scoff, sharp and sudden, pointing to his lager bottle with my fag. “You’ve had too many of those, mate. Gerald’s my housemate and landlord until I find something closer to town. That’s all. We even detoured on the way here to look at a place in Shoreditch that’s become available.”
“And?”
“And it was way too near to the Tube station. I’d have one of Ezra’s lot busking on my doorstep if I lived there. Maggie May and Brown-Eyed Girl blasting out from dawn ‘til dusk.”
When I’d put the same observation to my brown-eyed boy a couple of hours earlier, as the perfectly pleasant owner of the Shoreditch flat gave us a few minutes to wander the rooms alone, Gerald had thrown me an odd look.
Then he pointed out how much extra time in bed the proximity to the Tube station would afford me.
So then I had to scrabble around for another excuse, citing the width of the bed.
At which he’d remarked I was quite narrow myself, which led to him demonstrating my narrowness with both of his big hands around my waist. Fortunately, as I was running out of excuses, the next-door kebab shop chose that exact moment to bring out their massive, stinky wheelie bin.
With the flat windows wide open, not only was the rattling of the wheels enough to wake a stone-deaf shift worker, but the smell was also so bad, two leaves from a yucca plant standing sentry in the hallway dropped off. Thank fuck.
Luke looked up at the clear night sky. “So, cosy suppers with Gerald in front of the telly it is for a little longer then, right?”
“As I said, cooking together is cheaper. And he’s a great cook. He enjoys cooking.”
I’m protesting too much again, judging from Luke’s ongoing amused expression. “Are you sure you’re not dating, and you simply haven’t noticed?”
I let out an exaggerated breath. “Come on—I think I’d notice if I had a boyfriend, don’t you? You know, endless dick pics whilst we’re apart? My phone blowing up with wyd texts?”
Not having ever had one, I have no idea if this is something boyfriends do.
Though it’s definitely something I’d like my future boyfriend to do.
“Someone asking me what I want to eat and ignoring my answer?” I riff a bit more.
“Beard trimmings in the sink? At least one hoodie in my wardrobe that isn’t mine but then suddenly is? ”
Now I think about it, some of those examples apply.
The hoodie, for instance, Gerald hasn’t yet spotted I’ve snaffled it, and it’s actually his super soft, forest-green crew neck sweater.
The stray beard trimmings are more often mine than his, because Gerald’s a neat freak.
And he doesn’t bother asking what I want to eat any more.
Whether I request them or not, healthy options simply appear before me every evening.
Luke shrugs. “Have you ever had a proper boyfriend?”
“Oh my god, plenty.” I convince myself it’s the truth by mentally stretching the definition of boyfriend to its absolute limit, incorporating getting tanked up on mai-tais and shagging Neil.
Thankfully, my phone buzzes, saving me from compounding the fib any further. Gerald’s number flashes up with a three-letter text. Wyd?
I don’t need to see Luke’s smirk; smugness is fucking oozing from him. And no way am I tapping on the attached photo, not with him peeking over my shoulder.
“He doesn’t do parties.” I try to claw back some shreds of dignity. “Honestly, he’s so needy. I should never have let him tag along.”
My fingers itch to open the picture. If it’s a dick pic, I’m going to have to leave right this minute with Gerald in tow, so I can get my hands on the real deal. Luke regards me patiently, waiting for me to tap on the screen. No way.
Coming to find you, I thumb instead.
“I’ve got to go back inside. I promised to look after him.” I let out a huffing sigh, as if catering to Gerald’s needs is a massive chore in my life. “He’s a pain, Luke, honestly. Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Yeah, right,” Luke drawls. He shoots me a pitying expression. “And apparently fish ride bicycles and the moon’s made of cheese.”
OMG, it is a dick pic.