“Legal, consenting, and apparently homeless,” Max said, counting off on his fingers. “That’s three for three.”
“Stop. He’s going to find a new place.”
“Right. Because the rental market is famously merciful to pretty boys with paint on their hands.”
My jaw knotted. I hadn’t said pretty, and the word tasted as though I’d bitten my tongue.
Max tilted his head to one side. “Everything okay on Planet Theo?”
My laugh sounded like a hinge in need of oil. “Ask me again in two weeks.”
If I survive that long.
“You’re doing a good thing.” Then Max’s voice grew softer. “Don’t turn it into penance before it starts.”
“It isn’t—” I stopped. I didn’t know what it was. I pressed the heel of my hand into my chest again, as if I could push the feeling back into that drawer. “He’s Gary’s brother,” I reiterated, as though that explained everything going on inside my messed-up head.
“And as you just told me, he’s also twenty-two. Which is an adult in most legal systems and absolutely in the eyes of every thirsty person who watched him walk across that bar. But—” he held up a palm when my glare sharpened “—I know you. You won’t touch a thing unless the world signs a permission slip in triplicate, then embosses it. I’m just saying, don’t punish yourself for wanting. Wanting is information.”
“It complicates the data set,” I said. “It introduces noise.”
“Noise is music you haven’t arranged yet,” Max said. Then he softened the quip with a look that was way too knowing. “Textme when he calls. If you need me to be there when he moves in, I’ll be there. I can run interference with your face.”
“My face?”
“The one that looks like an emergency alarm.” Max sounded way too cheerful. “It makes people confess to crimes they haven’t committed yet.”
I tried to smother my smile and failed. “Go to hell.”
“Sorry, too busy right now.” He tilted his head again. “Are you sure you can handle this? I mean, you’re going to be living with the guy who made you forget how to blink, and you think you’re just gonna… what? Keep spreadsheets between you?”
My chest tightened. “I won’t need to do that. He’s straight.”
Max sucked in a breath. “Whoa. I didn’t know that part.”
Neither did I.
I could still see Cameron in my mind—the curve of his smile, the way he’d leaned in close to read the drinks list, the warmth of his breath brushing my ear.
You shouldn’t be here.
I’d meant it then. I meant it now.
But I could already picture it: Cameron in the kitchen in one of those too-soft T-shirts, a paintbrush in his hands, his hair a mess. Cameron’s laughter echoing through the flat. Cameron’s scent—soap, coffee, something indefinably him—seeping into the space that was fast becoming my sanctuary.
This is not a favour. It’s a countdown to disaster.
Cameron was off-limits. Untouchable. Then I remembered the look in Cameron’s eyes that night in the bar, a mix of curiosity and challenge, and doubt crept in.
He’s straight?It was a scenario I hadn’t anticipated. Cameron’s words still rang in my head.
Maybe you just don’t know me yet.
I’d known enough to recognise I couldn’t handle it.
To realise I hadn’t stopped noticing.
I pressed my palms flat to the table, trying to anchor myself. “It’s just until he finds somewhere else.” Repetition brought comfort. Security.