Текст книги "Echoes of Scotland Street"

Автор книги: Samantha Young

Соавторы: Samantha Young
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From there I caught on quickly and I was hooked.

The art lasted. The first crush didn’t.

A sheet of paper fell out from the third sketch pad I’d picked up and suddenly I was reminded of another boy. A year ago I would have been able to look at the sketch and feel nothing but a prickle of pain—a ghostly reminder rather than the real thing.

Now, however, looking down at the drawing of my ex-boyfriend Nick, I felt bitterness well up in me. That bitterness was becoming a familiar part of me and I hated it. I just didn’t know how to fight it.

But I leaned against my pillow, my fingers crinkling the sketch of the gorgeous Nick Briar. I’d gone out with Nick nine months after my first boyfriend, Ewan, had dumped me out of the blue. For a time Nick soothed the hurt Ewan had left me with. In my immaturity, I actually felt like I had won something over Ewan when I began dating Nick. He was nineteen and gorgeous and the lead singer in a rival rock band.

Nick had been the first of my bad boys . . .

*   *   *

The small club was dingy and smoky and much too hot. But I was filled with giddy excitement as I watched Nick sing onstage with his band, Allied Criminals. I thought their name was stupid and I wasn’t a huge fan of their music, but I loved Nick’s voice and his passion and how excited people were by them. I felt proud standing in the crowd as his girlfriend, and I promised myself I would always support him, no matter what.

Nick played up his brooding persona onstage, but in reality he was such a sweet guy. The night before, when I told him I wouldn’t be able to make it to this performance because of a family thing, he’d been really cool about it. He was disappointed, but he didn’t make a big deal about it like Ewan would have. And he made me feel special in a way that Ewan never had. Nick was always telling me how beautiful I was, how funny and interesting. I’d felt ordinary until I met him. I was completely falling for him, which was probably why I’d had sex for the first time with him a few weeks ago.

My friends were acting all immature about it and jealous, which was ridiculous. They thought it was a mistake for me to give it up to him and were really being unsupportive and ignorant about the whole thing. Lucky I had Nick in my life so I didn’t have to put up with their silly naïveté all the time.

After Nick was so cool the night before, whispering sweet nothings in my ear while he made love to me, I decided I’d get out of my aunt’s birthday party to come and see him play. I couldn’t wait to see the look of surprise on Nick’s face.

The band finished up and I hurried toward the door that would lead to backstage. A bouncer tried to push me back, but after I explained who I was he disappeared backstage and returned with the band’s “manager.” In reality he was Nick’s older cousin, Justin, and I wasn’t really sure what it was that qualified him to be their manager. I didn’t really care just then. Justin recognized me and got me backstage only to disappear before I could ask which way I was going. I wandered in the opposite direction and came upon the band sitting around a randomly placed and barren pool table. They were drinking beer and talking loudly among each other with a couple of guys and girls I didn’t recognize.

Nick was nowhere to be seen.

Alan, the lead guitarist, glanced up and stiffened when he saw me, his eyes flickering beyond me nervously before they snapped back to me. “Shannon.” He stood up abruptly and the guys all looked at me in much the same way. “I didn’t think you were coming tonight.”

I smiled back, but my lips trembled. The tension my appearance had caused had alarm bells ringing in my head. “I wanted to surprise Nick. Where is he?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Digby, the drummer, shrugged, looking at the other guys with a faked nonchalance that they returned.

Not Alan, though. His lips pinched together as he watched them, and when his eyes swung back to mine I stared into them stubbornly. My directness made him flinch. Alan and I got on pretty well. In fact, I sometimes got the impression he liked me. He flirted with me all the time and was always so considerate of me. I’d always brushed it off because I was mad about Nick and no one else could come close to how I felt about him.

“Where is he, Alan?”

Alan’s eyes softened with regret. “He’s in the cloakroom, Shannon.” He nodded in the direction behind me as the others shifted uneasily.

Feeling my heart bang away in my chest, I turned on my low-booted heels and strode with more confidence than I was feeling down a narrow, dark walkway. I came to a stop in front of a black-painted door with the word CLOAKROOM in peeling white paint across it.

I heard the gasps and grunts coming from inside and I knew what I was going to find, but I just had to see it for myself.

With a shaking hand I turned the door handle and threw it open.

In the small, dimly lit room that was no bigger than a large closet, I saw Nick with his jeans down around his ankles, thrusting into the blonde he had pinned against the wall.

Nausea and pain like I’d never felt before welled up in me as they both jerked their heads around in surprise at the intrusion. Nick’s eyes widened when he saw me and suddenly the blonde was forgotten as he called out my name in horror and let her go. She stumbled to the floor when Nick bent down to pick up his jeans.

I ran out of there, ignoring Alan and Nick shouting my name as they chased after me. I lost them in the crowds of the dirty bar and I hurried all the way to the bus stop. I didn’t go home. Instead I found myself knocking on my friend Caro’s house. She let me in and I sobbed all over her, apologizing for assuming she was naive, when in the end I was the only one who could be faulted for that . . .

*   *   *

Nick was an important lesson. Yet somehow it took another man cheating on me before I learned from it. Eventually I got wise to his type. However, I later got caught up in a different kind of bad boy: the kind who didn’t cheat but still found a way to wreck my life.

But no more.

I tore up the sketch of Nick into a hundred little pieces.

Never again.

CHAPTER 2

I ’d found it hard to sleep the night before I started my new job, butterflies fluttering around like wild things in my belly as I worried about the next day. When I managed to drift to sleep, it was with the hope that my manager would be very much a younger version of Stu. I could deal with a Stu.

So it was with more than the usual amount of first-day jitters that I stepped into INKarnate on Monday, which was probably why I almost tripped over my own feet at the sight before me.

Simon was standing in front of the marble reception desk talking quietly to a very tall guy who had his back to me. I got a brief glimpse of strong, broad shoulders and long legs before he turned and my eyes collided with his bright green ones.

Holy . . .

My stomach plummeted.

Dread filled me.

Please, no, no, no. Be a customer. Please be a customer.

Those eyes crinkled attractively at the corners as their gorgeous owner threw me a friendly, boyish smile that penetrated my anti-bad-boy force field. The eyes and smile would have brought me low on their own, but unfortunately those eyes and that smile were enhanced by sexy scruff on the stranger’s jaw, and the messy, unkempt strawberry blond hair that framed his attractive face. If that wasn’t enough to affect a woman, the tall, handsome stranger had a fit body. A very fit body by the look of things. His navy T-shirt did nothing to hide the perfect V of his torso or his lean, muscular arms. And those arms were covered in elaborate, hot tattoos.

“Shannon,” Simon greeted me, yanking my gaze away from the stunning disaster in front of me. “This is Cole, our manager.”

Was fate really this heartless?

Cole grinned at me again, and familiarity punched me in the chest along with dismay as he took a few steps toward me and held out his hand. “Cole Walker. It’s nice to meet you, Shannon.”

I reluctantly stepped forward and took his hand in mine.

I instantly regretted it.

His strong, slightly callused hand with the chunky silver ring on its middle finger felt really nice. It engulfed my small one and I felt surrounded by him.

Dammit!

I ripped my hand away, unable to meet my new manager’s gaze. My eyes dropped to the loosely laced black engineer boots his dark jeans were tucked into.

“Shannon?” Cole said my name like a question and I had to unglue my eyes from his feet to meet his gaze. Up close the familiarity I’d felt moments ago only strengthened in feeling as he narrowed his eyes on me. He took in my hair for a few long seconds.

Recognition slammed through me.

No.

No way.

“So, are you a hero, Cole Walker?”

“What is a hero, really?”

Months, even years, after our meeting outside my gran’s house all those years ago, I’d often thought of the good-looking boy I’d connected with after only a few minutes of conversation.

Cole Walker.

Cole freaking Walker.

All grown-up.

And he was my new manager.

I was so screwed. I’d be less screwed, though, if he didn’t remember me, which I was pretty sure he wouldn’t. A guy like him—he was bound to have flirty conversations with women every day. No way would he remember a random conversation with a short, pale redhead nine years ago.

“I know you.” Cole stepped back, tilting his head as he scrutinized me with a small smile on his lips. He looked charmed by me, which immediately sent my force field back up at full power. “Shannon.” Unbelievably, recognition lit up his beautiful eyes. “We’ve met.” He grinned back at a smiling Simon before returning his attention to me. His eyes were filled with pleased surprise. “On Scotland Street. Years ago.”

He waited for me to respond.

I could tell him I remembered him, but surely that would only encourage the flirtiness I saw glittering in his gaze. I remembered he liked my hair and my eyes. Who was to say he didn’t still like my hair and my eyes, and moreover would like a chance to see said hair spilled across his pillow as he screwed me? A screwing that he would most likely promptly follow up with screwing me over.

Keeping my face perfectly blank, I shook my head. “Sorry. I don’t remember.”

Disappointment caused his smile to wilt. “Really? We talked about bands and zombies and stuff. Your boyfriend picked you up. You’re from Glasgow.”

Christ, did he have a photographic memory?

I only just managed to stop myself from wrinkling my nose in annoyance. “I am from Glasgow,” I answered calmly, not unfriendly but not friendly either. “And my gran lived on Scotland Street, but I don’t remember you. Sorry.”

Simon tried to muffle a snort of laughter behind Cole.

Cole shot him a displeased look over his shoulder and Simon turned around with an innocent whistle and casually walked into the back.

Sighing, my new manager turned to me with a frown puckering his brow. “You really don’t remember me?”

“Sorry.” I shrugged apathetically, which only caused his frown to deepen.

“Long time ago, I suppose.” He continued to stare at me in an assessing way and I began to squirm uncomfortably. The more he stared, the more I stared, and the more I stared, the more I noticed how deliciously lickable he was.

The tattoos only made him more so.

I blamed the artist in me for my weakness for a man with great tattoos. There was what looked like initials worked into a tribal design tattooed on the left side of his neck. On his left arm was a sleeve tattoo in black ink of a wolf standing on a rocky precipice. It sketched upward into his biceps, and the upper body of a woman in profile appeared to transform out of the top of the wolf’s head—her face was upturned; her hair billowed in the wind and disappeared under the fabric of his T-shirt. On his right arm in a reddish brown and black ink was a flying eagle, the tips of its wings disappearing under his T-shirt too. Dangling from the eagle’s talons was an old-fashioned pocket watch, but I couldn’t make out what time was set on it.

“You like what you see?”

I blinked at the innuendo in Cole’s voice, dragging my eyes from his tattoos to his face. He was wearing this sexy little smirk that would have worked like a charm on me a few months ago.

But a lot had happened since then. I raised an eyebrow. “Do you flirt with all your new employees?” I said, unamused and pretending to be unimpressed.

Cole’s smirk turned into a grin as his eyes roamed over my hair. “I’ve never had one like you before,” he murmured.

“Efficient, smart, responsible, reliable?” I said through gritted teeth.

Laughter danced in his eyes. “Well, I hope you’re all those things too.” Clearly pleased with himself, he chuckled and turned around to head toward the reception desk. “Good hair, by the way,” he shot over his shoulder.

For the first time in years I cursed my bloody hair.

“I’m thinking about dyeing it pink,” I lied as I followed him behind the desk.

Clicking the mouse on the computer, Cole muttered, “And I’m really a tattooist by day and a time-traveling immortal highlander by night.”

Before I could respond, he threw me a wry smile and gestured to the computer with a nod of his head. “Desktop.” The mouse moved over the screen as he showed me the digital appointment book, the spreadsheet on which they kept their supplies updated, a list of their suppliers’ contact details, and a folder with information on regular clients.

“Now.” He sighed and threw me an apologetic look. “We have an issue with filing.” He turned around, his arm brushing mine as he did so, and unfortunately I couldn’t stop my body from reacting to the touch. The hairs on my arms stood on end, and the blood heated in my cheeks. Cole didn’t seem to notice as he waved an arm at the huge closet in front of us—the one with the masses of paper files. “Our last assistant was completely inept—”

“And a fucking homophobe,” Simon’s voice snarled in my ear, and I jumped in fright to discover he was standing at my shoulder.

“Which was why our last assistant was canned,” Cole informed me. When I looked back at him he was studying me warily. “You’re not a homophobe, are you, Shannon?”

I barely registered the question. He had a lovely accent—it was refined and lilting and it did gorgeous things to the sound of my name.

Realizing they were both now tensely waiting on an answer, I hurried to assure Simon, “Definitely not. Love’s just love, right?”

Simon relaxed and smiled at me. “Love’s just love, sweetheart,” he agreed.

I smiled back at him, but when my gaze returned to Cole, my smile wilted. He had been staring at me with this disarming look in his eyes, a soft look that made me feel things I had no right feeling. At the sudden change in my demeanor, Cole frowned, clearly confused by my reaction to him.

“So, the files . . . ?” I urged.

Cole blinked. “Files? Oh, right, files.” He cleared his throat and gestured back to the closet. “These are Stu’s files before he went digital. We don’t need them—they date back to when the studio first opened—but Stu wants to keep them. Our boss can be a bit stubborn sometimes.” He said it with such affection I knew Stu’s stubbornness didn’t bother Cole in the least. “The files were moved when a pipe burst in Stu’s office, but the assistant who moved them turned them into a disorganized mess. Accounting files have been mixed up with art files and they’re all out of chronological order. I’d like you to reorganize it whenever you’re not needed on reception.”

I took a step toward the mess. “Why don’t I digitize them instead? It’ll free up the space in here. The mess doesn’t exactly give the greatest impression to your customers.”

Cole seemed to consider it. “It’ll take you longer . . .”

I shrugged. “I like to keep busy.”

His eyes moved over the top of my head to Simon. “Can it be? We finally hired a receptionist who knows what she’s doing and actually wants to work?”

“Bigger miracles have occurred,” Simon said, a smile in his voice.

Feeling immediately flustered, I pretended otherwise by turning to the reception desk. “Where’s the printer?”

“It’s in Stu’s office. I’ll get it and bring it here for you.” Cole strode toward the back rooms and disappeared down the corridor. My eyes followed him against my will.

“Don’t worry,” Simon said.

“Worry about what?”

He gave a huff of laughter. “About getting your knickers in a twist over Cole. He has a tendency to have that affect on people. Believe me, I’ve never wished harder for someone to miraculously wake up gay one morning.”

Despite being annoyed that Simon had somehow guessed my immediate attraction to our boss, I couldn’t help giggling. “What about Tony?”

Simon waved my question off. “We both have fantasy lists of people we’re allowed to fuck if they ever turned gay. Channing Tatum is on his. Cole’s on mine.”

“Does Cole know you fancy him?”

“He’s seen my whole list. Tony printed them for evidence of our pact in case fantasy ever becomes reality.”

I was still stuck on the fact that Cole knew Simon fancied him and yet seemed perfectly at ease with him. “Doesn’t it bother Cole that you fancy him?”

Simon grunted. “Why would it?”

“Some men, particularly men like Cole, are weird about that stuff. The idiots think it threatens their manhood.”

“Speaking from experience, are you?”

I made a face at the thought of my ex. “I once knew a guy who beat the shit out of a bloke who came on to him in a bar. It was one of the ugliest things I’ve ever seen.” Blinking away the memories, I discovered Simon staring at me with an arrested look on his face. It was as though he sensed it wasn’t the only ugly thing I’d ever seen, and wanted to know why. The thought of anyone in my new life knowing what I’d been through caused a wall to shoot up inside me; its impenetrableness must have been reflected in my suddenly blank expression.

Sensing the change, Simon stepped back. “Cole isn’t like that. He’s not like that at all.”

It didn’t matter what kind of man Cole Walker was. I had no intention of ever finding out.

*   *   *

I heard Cole’s rumbling tones nearing the door to the main reception room as he led his client out. Instantly I tensed over the printer he’d set up on the reception desk. For the last few hours I’d immersed myself in creating chronological digital folders to organize all the scanned material. The files contained receipts and client information, and many of them had photographs of the tattoo work. I was with Cole—the stuff dated back years, and with the exception of the accounting, most of it really didn’t need to be kept. Stu, it appeared, was a bit of a hoarder. However, as I’d told Cole, I was happy to digitize it all if it meant keeping me busy and out of my new manager’s way.

He’d had a guy called Ross Mead in all morning. They were doing work on a massive tattoo that would eventually cover Ross’s back. I knew Cole had three more appointments this afternoon and I had to wonder if his hand ever cramped up. In fact, after receiving a couple of calls this morning from people looking to book tattoo appointments, I discovered the studio was fully booked at weekends for the next six weeks. Appointments were available during the week, which was a more difficult time for people with nine-to-five jobs, but it was clear some of them were willing to take time off work rather than wait to get in Cole Walker’s chair.

“Same care as before,” I heard Cole say as he and Ross stepped out into the room. “And I’ll see you back here in three weeks.”

Although I wanted to go on pretending I wasn’t aware of Cole, my job involved taking payment from the customer, so I had to look up as they approached. Ross looked a little peaked as Cole led him to me.

“Are you okay?” I said.

Ross threw me a shaky, dry smile. “Want the tattoo, don’t particularly like the way I feel during and afterwards.”

“I’ve got something”—I bent down to rummage around in my handbag—“that might help. Aha!” I curled my hand triumphantly around the bar of chocolate and tugged it out. “Here.” I broke off a few squares and handed them to him. “Sugar.”

He grinned gratefully. “Thanks. How much do I owe you?” He chewed on a piece of chocolate as my eyes flicked over the price list on the desk.

I could have asked Cole, but again that meant looking at him. “Four hours . . . that’s two hundred and forty pounds.”

As I took Ross’s credit card and popped it into the card reader, I expected Cole to vamoose back into his workroom, but he stayed there, chatting to Ross about the Lowlight gig they’d both been to a few months ago in Glasgow. Usually I would have jumped right into the conversation, but, again, I was avoiding interaction with my boss. Moreover, I was supposed to have been at that gig. I didn’t want to think about the reason why I hadn’t gone.

Once Ross had paid he gestured with his last piece of chocolate in thanks to me and departed the studio. Leaving me alone with Cole.

I could feel his stare burning into me.

After a while it became impossible to withstand the intensity. I looked at him in question without saying anything.

Unfortunately he was bestowing upon me that boyish grin that led to dirty thoughts. “Can I have a piece?”

Outraged, I sucked in a breath. “Excuse me?”

His lips twitched with amusement. “Of chocolate,” he clarified. “A piece of chocolate.”

Embarrassed that I’d misunderstood, I thrust the bar of chocolate at him, ignoring his chuckle as he took it. To avoid him I stuffed the last square in my mouth and turned back to scanning the files.

“When’s my next client in?”

“In an hour and a half,” I said without looking up or at the appointment book. I’d already memorized Cole’s schedule for the day.

A twenty-pound note slid toward me on the desk. “Can you go out and grab something for our lunch? Better get Rae something too. She’ll be in soon and she’s usually starving. If we feed her right away, it mellows her a little. But only a little.”

Glancing up as I took the money, I found him smiling at me. “What would you like?”

Cole’s grin turned positively wolfish. “If I answered that honestly you’d likely find me very unprofessional.”

I stiffened at the flirtation but tried to remain polite. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t answer honestly.”

With an exaggerated, beleaguered sigh, Cole crossed his arms on the other side of the desk and leaned toward me. My breath hitched at the heat in his expression as he stared down at me. “I pride myself on being straightforward.”

Willing my body to stop reacting to him, I stepped back from the desk and turned around to grab my jacket off the coat hook behind me. As I shrugged into it, I very deliberately met Cole’s still glittering gaze. “I pride myself on being professional.”

The door to the studio blew open, stalling whatever Cole’s response would be, and distracting us from the crackling tension between us. Rae stomped inside and slammed the door shut with a grunt.

Cole’s body language changed as he took in her red face and blazing eyes. His back straightened and his hands fisted at his side. “What happened?”

“My roommate just fucked off! I woke up and she’d fucking packed every fucking thing she owned and fucked off with that fucking Malaysian dude she met a month ago! Fuck!” She stomped her foot, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “How the fuck am I going to pay the rent?”

Despite the voice screaming in my head that it was a very, very bad idea, I found myself saying, “I’m looking for a place.”

Rae rolled her eyes. “I don’t think so.”

Ouch. “Well, why not?” I crossed my arms over my chest, annoyed by the immediate dismissal.

“I can’t be worrying about walking on eggshells in my own place. Shit pours out of my mouth before I can stop it, and I need to be around people that can hack the fucking awesomeness that is me.”

I heard Cole laugh but refused to look at him as I made my case. “I never said I wanted to move in with you. I just said I’m looking for a place. Where is your flat? How much is rent?”

She gave me a look that suggested she was merely humoring me. “King Street. Literally just around the corner.” She told me what rent and council tax was each month excluding half of the utilities. It was quite a lot. “It’s a nice flat,” she said, taking in my dubious expression.

It was a little more than I’d been hoping to pay, but it was just around the corner from work. Although I had to wonder if living with Rae would balance out the positive aspects. Then again, it would be a while before any letting agent would allow me to sign a lease—I had to prove I’d been in work for three months. The thought of staying in that pokey wee hotel for three months . . .

“I cook. I clean. I keep to myself.”

Rae considered me for a second and then threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. “Fuck, I’ve no fucking choice! Fine! You can have the fucking room.”

Blinking rapidly at the overuse of profanity spilling from her mouth, I said, “I’d like to see it first.”

Her face turned red again. “It’s a nice fucking flat with a double room. Don’t you trust me?”

Feeling Cole’s eyes burning into me, I flicked a look at him and then turned my focus back to Rae. “I don’t trust anyone,” I answered coolly.

Rae stared at me for a few seconds before the red in her face disappeared. She grinned at me, her eyes alight with humor now. “I like you,” she announced as though she were a queen granting a great honor. “You’re moving in.”

“But—”

“Tonight. No faffing about. Rent’s due at the end of the month. Oh.” She ran her eyes over me warily. “No clown paraphernalia.”

My mouth fell open. “Eh?”

“Clowns are evil.” She strode through the studio toward the back room. “Someone get me something to eat. I’ve had a fucking awful morning.”

My eyes met Cole’s. His were laughing. Mine were not. “What just happened?”

He grinned. “I think Rae just adopted you.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

“It’s not so bad. It’s like living with your own personal Rottweiler.”

I made a face. “Except Rottweilers are friendly.”

Cole snorted. “This one isn’t.”

*   *   *

“This is everything?” Rae stared at the boxes piled around my feet.

I was standing outside her door in her apartment building on King Street. By the time I’d gotten everything together and into a taxi I couldn’t really afford, night had fallen. Now Rae stood in her doorway wearing pajama shorts and a Nine Inch Nails T-shirt that had seen better days.

“I don’t need a lot.” I tried to peek into the flat. My reservations over moving in with this seemingly crazy woman were abated somewhat by the parquet flooring I could see beyond her.

Rae seemed to contemplate this for a moment and I suddenly found myself uncomfortable with the fact that I had very little in the way of possessions. It didn’t occur to me until now that that might invite questions as to why. Most people had loads of crap to their name.

“Okay.” Rae shrugged and bent down to pick up a box. “Let’s get this shit inside before my nipples freeze off.”

Charming.

I huffed out air between my lips and followed her inside.

My new colleague and now flatmate hadn’t been lying. The flat was nice. It had a decent-sized modern kitchen, a small but cozy sitting room with a balcony off it, and two good-sized double rooms. We shared a bathroom, but it was almost as big as the kitchen, so I wasn’t complaining. After dumping my boxes in my room, Rae left me to unpack.

Once I’d unpacked my measly amount of clothing into a wardrobe from IKEA, I began unpacking my sketch pads, pencils, and charcoals. Not wanting anyone, as in Rae, to see my work, I shoved it under the bed. I was standing there holding my current sketch pad when the door to my bedroom flew open. Heart in my throat, I dropped to my knees and slid the pad under the bed before Rae could see it.

I looked up to find Rae frozen in my doorway carrying a cup that had steam rising out of the top of it. She took in the sight of me on my knees and grinned. “No need to worry about hiding your vibrators, Shannon. You’ll probably hear mine through the wall. I have the Rabbit. It’s a classic for a reason you know.” She thrust the cup out at me. “Tea. I guessed milk and two sugars.”

Still flustered and a little stunned, I stood up and reached for the tea she’d made just how I liked it. “Thanks,” I mumbled, feeling like an idiot.

Rae smirked and left the room, closing the door behind her.

My shoulders slumped as I turned to stare at my hidden artwork. I felt my throat close with emotion, mostly frustration, that I’d been reduced to acting like a bumbling fool in order to hide my art from people. I never used to hide. I never used to act like this.

Not until . . .

“Why do you bother with that crap? It’s not like you’re any good at it.”

“And what do you know about art?”

“Enough to know you’ve not got any talent, babe.”

The memories flooded me, zapping my energy, and I stumbled to the bed. Staring at the blank wall in front of me, I tried to fight them back, the hand not holding the hot cup of tea curled so tight into a fist my fingernails bit into my skin.

*   *   *

Once I got my emotions under control, I finished packing and decided to get acquainted with my new flatmate. I didn’t want Rae to think I was antisocial, although perhaps she would prefer it if I was. I’d find out soon enough.

Instead of Rae, I found Cole in the sitting room. I almost tripped over my feet at the sight of him on the armchair near the balcony, his right ankle hooked over his left knee. My eyes drank in his long-limbed body before I could stop myself. When they eventually traveled upward, Cole was staring at me with this knowing, cocky little grin on his lips.

His very, very kissable lips.

Man, he was annoying.

“Thought you might want to join a few of us for a drink to celebrate the job and the flat.”

Processing how comfortable and at ease Cole seemed in Rae’s flat, I felt my eyes narrowing as they scanned the room. They stopped on a large black digital photo frame. Every few seconds the picture would change and in among pictures of Rae with people I had never met were lots of pictures of Rae, Cole, Simon, and some Italian-looking bloke I could only assume was Tony.

Bugger.