Twenty-Three
“Ah, memory lane,” I smile wistfully as Adam welcomes me in.
“It’s been two weeks, Alex.” He rolls his eyes, leading me down the hall into the kitchen.
“And I reckon you’ve landed on your feet with that place.”
“Maybe,” I muse, still shocked by my post-drinking discovery.
“I see Sir John hasn’t stymied your tendency to be tipsy by 2pm on a Saturday.”
I straighten up and reply with dignity, “I may have had a fruit juice or two with some alcohol at brunch. With Sir John, I might add. Anyway, how did you know?”
“Hunch. And your jumper’s on inside out.”
“Oh.” I start to mount a defence but freeze in my tracks as I see the most attractive man in the history of Clapham South and possibly the world.
Beautiful olive skin, thick curly black hair, muscles straining under his gloriously tight green t-shirt. I can hardly look away.
“Alex, meet your replacement, Javier! But with upgraded cooking skills! Javier, this is my cousin Alex.”
“I… I’m Adam’s cousin, Alex,” I say unnecessarily.
“I just said that, Alex,” Adam chips in helpfully.
Javier breaks into a gorgeous smile before giving me a huge hug. “Alex. The ALEX. I’ve heard so much about you. I love the room; thank goodness you left it to me! Coffee? You look in need of a good brew.”
He heads over to a space-age-looking espresso machine as I commit the feel of his arms around me to memory.
Adam rudely brandishes a hand in front of my eyes. Pretending to look nonchalant and not at all in lust, I glance around the familiar yet suddenly unfamiliar kitchen. There are a number of shiny high-tech kitchen gadgets perched on the ageing 1970’s Formica. It’s as if the Starship Enterprise has suddenly docked at Milton Keynes motorway services. I’m pondering how the Milton Keyners would react to this, but Javier’s muscles have a disconcerting habit of rippling as he moves around the kitchen to grab mugs and pour the coffee, and I decide to focus on them instead. To think all I had to do to get such a hunk in my bed was pull out of my lease.
The coffee is delicious, and I am almost revived. Just as I’m mumbling thanks, Javier takes me by the hands and solemnly kisses me on both cheeks. They burn as he solemnly wishes me goodbye before heading out. “Sorry to run so soon,” he shouts from the hall. “Drinks with the boys.”
Adam shouts his goodbyes, and I practically scream, “See you soon!” with the urgency of a besotted teenager at a Harry Styles concert.
Adam smiles smugly, “So… how’s Ryan?”
My cheeks feel like they’ve gone several degrees hotter. “He’s very well, thank you. He’s out of the country.”
“Figures… while the cat’s away and all that.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I was just a bit startled. Javier wasn’t what I was expecting. You’ve always hated the idea of sharing a house with competition.”
“Come see your old room,” I follow him to the back of the flat. I expect a pang of sadness when I see my scruffy little den, but it is totally unrecognisable. Every surface, every inch, is transformed. Thick purple velvet curtains have replaced my tired old blinds. An impeccably made bed lies somewhere under about twenty scatter cushions. Meanwhile, the bits of flaked plaster on the walls have been artfully concealed by pictures and posters, including a huge black and white print of a shirtless James Dean.
“Oh… that’s interesting,” I say hesitantly.
“Javier is great. He’s a huge gym bunny – that’s where we got talking. Amazing cook. Plus, he knows all of these gorgeous girls – they’re always coming around.”
“Humph. He sounds like the perfect flatmate,” I say petulantly.
“And every other weekend, he visits his boyfriend in Manchester.”
“Ah.”
“That’s right. Like you said, I didn’t want any competition.”
“Well, you’ve certainly found the perfect housemate,” I mutter.
“Aww. You know you’re irreplaceable. No one makes an omelette like you do.”
I smile.
“No one would ever want to,” he adds.
My smile fades, and I settle for a playful arm punch.