EIGHT
Gigi
Once Greg leaves, the tension in the house instantly diffuses. Mia rambles on about how inappropriate he was, flailing her arms.
Someone approaches my side as I sit at the kitchen counter with my head in my hands. “Are you okay?”
I push the hair from my eyes, resting my chin against my shoulder as I turn to Harry. His eyes are on Mia, who’s still rambling away, but I know his focus is elsewhere.
“I’ve been better …”
His hands flex. “He’s a cunt. Always has been.”
My gaze lingers on his face a little too long. Every time I’ve ever been this close to him, our interactions have been tainted with aggression. But as we stand beside each other I can only appreciate him. His green eyes are devastating, and despite not being on me, they flush my cheeks regardless.
My eyes flick from Mia, who’s now pacing the room, back to Harry. “What happened between the two of you anyway?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “Between you and Greg, I mean.”
His eyes meet mine. “Care to ask a less complicated question?”
My phone screen flashes, pulling my attention away. When I notice it’s Greg calling, I ignore it and turn the phone over. He’s the last person I want to speak to right now, just behind my parents. The thought of going home makes my shoulders sag, but the idea of invading Harry with my presence bothers me more.
“I’ll probably head home soon.”
His jaw tics, but he says nothing.
“Aren’t your parents out of town again?” Mia asks.
I turn to her, shocked she’s stopped ranting. “Hmm?”
“Isn’t it their annual trip to the Cotswolds?”
Silence descends over the room, and during the moment of clarity, it dawns on me the last time I spent a night at home alone was the night of the break-in. For a fleeting second I wonder if the mysterious stranger will visit again … and suddenly, the idea of going home doesn’t seem so awful.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her.
Andy looks between the two of us in curiosity. “Something wrong with your house?”
“Someone broke in a little while back. I haven’t been there alone since.”
“You can’t stay there!” Mia exclaims. “My family and I are in Covent Garden this evening, otherwise I’d stay with you.” She turns to the side, pleading with puppy-dog eyes. “Andy …”
“My apartment isn’t really guest-friendly.” He grimaces, exchanging a glance with Harry. “But I guess she can stay here.”
“No,” Harry says through gritted teeth. “She can’t.”
Ouch.
“Honestly, it’s fine. I’ve already outstayed my welcome.”
I mentally pat myself on the back for failing to tell Mia about my run-in with the intruder. While I can trust her with most secrets, I feel that’s something she wouldn’t be willing to accept.
I stand up from the kitchen stool. “Would you mind if I use your shower before I head home? ”
Harry nods, his mouth twitching into a smile that’s totally forced.
When I reach the bathroom, I make a point of quickly shutting the door behind me and avoiding my reflection in the mirror, afraid of what I’ll see. I shower and rinse my body clean of the touches plaguing my skin. I’m wrapping a towel round myself when a knock sounds on the door.
I pull it open slightly and poke my head out. Harry’s standing at the door, a pile of clothes in his arms. Not just any clothes. Women’s clothes.
“For you,” he says, handing them out to me.
Right, because this isn’t fucking weird.
He must have a girlfriend.
I smile my thanks, taking them from him. Once I’ve closed the door again, I dry myself off and change into some of the clothes, opting for a pair of jeans and a plain T-shirt. They’re comfortable and simple, but the burden of who the clothes belong to sits heavily on my shoulders.
When I leave the bathroom, Harry is still standing at the door. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest.
“I’m sorry about what I said.”
“Honestly, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“You can stay here.”
“No. I’ll go home.”
“It wasn’t a question.”
Oh .
This is not how I expected my Saturday night to go.
Mia is spending the evening with her family, and Andy has other commitments that mean he can’t linger, which means I’m alone with Harry. Although I’m confined to the four walls of his house like some dog on a leash, I’ve hardly seen him.
I sit on the sofa, twiddling my thumbs and feeling like an absolute idiot for imposing on his evening. In my silence I realise the lack of decoration extends to the rest of his house too. He has the basic essentials, of course. I’m sitting on a three-seater brown leather sofa, which matches the smaller one opposite it in the open living space. There’s a dark rectangular rug beneath the coffee table, and a black media unit for the TV, but that’s as far as furniture goes.
Harry’s been occupying himself behind that bloody locked door down the hall, which actually is a creepy locked door. Apparently, it’s one of those darkrooms where you process photos taken on film cameras. I’m under strict instruction not to go in there as exposure to light will hinder the process. Pretty convenient, if you ask me.
The noise of a sitcom echoes from the TV and creates a dull background noise, causing me to miss the door opening. When I turn to Harry, I hope to catch a glimpse of the room, but the door’s already shut. He catches my wandering eyes as he walks to the refrigerator.
“Fancy a beer?” he asks.
The soft glow of the fridge illuminates his face in a gentle light. Taking him in, my eyes drop from his face to the sweatpants adorning his legs. Chancing my gaze lower, I can almost see the outline of his—
“Beer?” he repeats, cocking a brow.
I force a swallow. “No, thanks. The beer, I mean.”
He joins me in the room and sits on the sofa opposite mine. Slouching back against the fabric, he spreads his legs wide to ease his large frame into the cushions.
I stare at the side of Harry’s face as he watches TV, observing as he brings the beer bottle to his lips and takes a long sip. The action alone shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. Alongside the spread of his legs, it makes me feel slightly queasy.
The only person I’ve had sex with in recent months is Greg, and it’s been so vanilla it’s practically flavourless.
Cursing my horniness for now thinking about sex when I’m sitting opposite Harry in an empty house, I tear my gaze away from him and say, “I’m going to head to my room.”
He doesn’t look in my direction as I leave, simply bringing the bottle to his lips again. My demand to take the sofa was rendered useless earlier, so I don’t bother pushing the argument further as I step into Harry’s room and close the door behind me. I don’t plan on actually sleeping, of course. Since I reckon Harry would appreciate his own bed more and would rather be without my presence, it takes me less than a minute to decide I’m leaving.
I sit anxiously on the edge of his mattress until the light goes out in the hallway, then I wait an additional thirty minutes for good measure, to make sure he’s asleep. Since I’m without a car, my options are limited, especially since I don’t have the cash to pay for a taxi or any spare money for an Uber. Instead, when I climb out of his bedroom window and step onto the street, I decide to just walk the distance to my house.
Google Maps says it’ll take me two hours.
Not great, but I refuse to entertain the alternative now I’m fairly certain he has a girlfriend.
I walk into the night, hugging my arms round my waist as I follow the directions on my phone.