He’s changed out of his suit, swapping it for jeans, a dark hoodie. Casual. Effortless.Dangerous.
For a second, I forget I was planning to avoid him.
“Actually,” I shift my weight, “I’ve got things to do. Can we do this another time?”
“No.” He says it like it’s not even up for discussion as he pulls open the passenger door.
“Honestly, it’s fine—”
“Get in the car, Wynter,” he drawls. “Now.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who takes no for an answer, so I slide into the seat, the door shutting firmly behind me.
Ray gets in, and starts the engine, without asking for my address. My stomach sinks.
He already knows.
When we pull up outside my building, I feel the embarrassment before I even step out.
The usual group of lads are gathered near the entrance, being loud, restless, and watching everything.
I inwardly groan.
Great.
“You can wait here,” I say quickly. “I’ll bring my things down.”
He stays silent, then his door opens. I glance over as he rounds the car, opening mine without a word.
Right. Of course, he’s not letting me do this alone.
Every pair of eyes turns towards us as we walk over. One of the lads steps forward, lifting his fist. Ray bumps it without hesitation.
“Bossman. Good to see you.”
“Watch the car,” Ray says casually as we pass.
The lad nods immediately, and I stare after them, confused.
“How do you know them?” I ask as I push open the communal door.
Ray steps in behind me. “You don’t want to know.”
We take the stairs as the lift hasn’t worked since the day I moved in. By the time we reach the second floor, the odour hits—stale, sour, unmistakable.Piss.Or vomit, I’ve never worked out which.
I keep my eyes forward, willing the ground to swallow me whole as we walk the length of the corridor. I feel him behind me, taking it all in.Judging.
We stop outside my door, and my hands fumble slightly with the key before I finally get it open.
I step inside quickly, like I can somehow shield him from the worst of it.
I’ve tried to make it nice. I bought fake flowers and a throw for the sofa. Little things to make it feel less temporary.
But there’s no hiding it. The mould creeps along the walls. The damp gathers on the windowsills. The faint, earthy smell that never quite leaves, like the place is slowly rotting around me.
“I’ll just be a minute,” I say, already moving towards my bedroom before he can say anything.
RAY