“Possibly,” I amended.
Cameron grinned. “That’s more like the honest version.” He retreated to the kitchen.
I watched him move around as he cleaned, completely at ease, and warmth settled in my chest.
I cleared my throat. “I’ve been thinking about our current situation.”
“Which bit of it?”
“You staying here, sleeping on the sofa…”
I caught his gasp. “You’re not relegating me to the sofa, are you? Do I snore? Hog the duvet?”
I laughed. “My bed is your bed. No, I’m talking about looking for somewhere bigger. That’s if you want us to continue living together.”
He leaned a hip against the counter and squinted at me. “Oooh, I don’t know. Living with my gorgeous, talented boyfriend who cooks, cleans, labels the sock drawer, and kisses me as though he’s making up for years of repression?” He sipped his coffee. “Yeah. I’m good with that.” His eyes twinkled.
My cheeks grew warm, and his smile softened. “Of course I want to stay.”
My heart steadied. I’d spent too many years having “yes” being followed by a wound.
I’ll learn.
Slowly.
“We can’t be any closer to central London, simply because of costs,” I reminded him.
“I’m an impoverished artist, remember?” He grinned. “But I draw the line at living in an attic and sharing our living space with rats.”
My phone buzzed, and I glanced at it.
Max: Studio. 4pm. This is important.
I frowned.What the hell?There was no rehearsal planned for the weekend.
“What’s up?”
“Max just messaged me. He wants me at the studio this afternoon. And by the look of it, refusal is not an option.”
Cameron blinked. “Then I guess we’re going to Soho.” He bit his lip. “So I’ve got time for a shower?”
I snorted. “Four o’clock is several hours away. Just how long do you intend taking a shower for?”
“Oh, that’ll take five minutes.” He grinned. “It’s what happensafterit that will eat up all the time.” Cameron grasped the hem of my shirt and drew it up and over his head, revealing his erect cock that was already standing to attention. He turned and sauntered toward the bathroom, his arse cheeks jiggling.
I got up. “I think you’ve underestimated your shower time.”
As soon as we went into the studio, my senses were on alert. The room was buzzing, but it was a restless buzz.
Julian was pacing. Finnley was talking too fast. Raised voices argued about tempos. Milo sat on the piano bench, playing quietly. Oliver and Liam were locked in a verbal battle.
Whatever was going on, it wasn’t a rehearsal.
Max saw us. “Finally.” The others fell silent, and all eyes focused on me, the room suddenly still.
Uh-oh.
Finnley folded his arms. “I think we’re ready.” A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.