Between (4 page)

Personally, I think telling someone they look like shit doesn’t show concern
, but I don’t say anything. I can’t look at Alek without remembering the bizarre conversation I heard between him and his other housemate the other night.

"Sorry, Casper, just trying to be friendly."

"I’d hate to see you being unfriendly."

Again, the eyes
, but this time accompanied by Alek running his tongue along his teeth. "Very true."

I shiver at his semi-threat then turn away. For the next few minutes, I focus on watching the cars pass the kitchen window and will the kettle to boil. I sling a teabag into a cup and hastily
pour water into the stained mug. I don’t want to be around this guy anymore.

A chair slides behind me, the fridge opens and closes again
, and when I turn, Alek’s standing with another beer in his hand.
Does this guy have a drinking problem? Is this why he’s so out of it?
Cupping my hands around my mug, I attempt to sidle past him. I have to pause, waiting for him to slide his leg out of the way, and he slowly draws it back. Alek studies me again; not in the predatory way from before, but with curiosity.

"You’re not very much like me, are you?" he says
, and I’m not entirely sure if he’s speaking to himself or me.

"No, I don’t think I am." I step over his foot and brush my arm against his as I pass. Static shoots up my arm and I startle. No, not static, but
a sensation of lightning charging across the space between us, jolting electricity into my body.

Alek
holds his hand to his temples and closes his eyes. I hesitate, not sure if I should speak or just leave. He opens his eyes again, frowning. "Well, that was unexpected."

Something just changed. I’ve no idea what, but there’s a shift in the way he looks at me
; confusion edging out his previous strange look. He studies me and even though he’s heating my blood, I shiver.

"If anyone upsets you, tell me," he says softly.

I have no idea how to respond to his unexpected and unwanted show of protectiveness. So I don’t.

CHAPTER 5

Over the next few days,
I spend most of my time helping with an inventory check in stores. Luckily, I don’t have any necessary trips up to ICU where I might bump into Finn. I also avoid the cafe and go straight home after each shift. I’m mortally embarrassed about passing out in front of Finn and I don’t want him interrogating me about why it happened.

My luck runs out three days later as I head
toward the cafeteria. I forgot to eat lunch, and my blood sugar has shifted my head into a dizzying state. Unable to trust my ability to remain conscious these days, I decide it’s easier to stay at work and eat.

"How are you feeling today?" Finn appears alongside
me. I’m startled and turn to him, arrested by his soft blue eyes of concern.

"Better, thanks." I weave around a couple with a small child heading
toward us.

"Do you do that a lot? Faint?"
Wow, straight to the point.

I chew inside my mouth, not wanting to get into
a discussion about my health with him. "I’m okay, thanks for your concern."

Finn pulls his phone from his pocket. "I’ve got an hour before my shift starts
. How about I buy you another drink and you try to keep conscious this time?"

I pause, one eye on the door out of the building
and consider taking myself home instead.

"Please? I promise not to be as obnoxious as last time."

Somebody like him, pleading to spend time in my company when most people avoid me, piques my curiosity and I agree. I play it safe with sandwiches this afternoon instead of the congealed food available, which looks less appetising than usual.

When we sit, Finn is quieter as if careful of what to say. He taps his long fingers on his plastic coffee cup.
"I don’t want to pester you about this, but are you really okay?"

"Your concern is very touching, but yes
, I’m fine."

"And you got home okay?"

"Fine."

"Do you live near here?"

"Why?"

He raises an eyebrow at my sharp tone. "Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker. Just making conversation."

Whenever people say they’re not something, I instantly think they are. Which makes him a stalker. "I share a house across town." I almost say ‘nice house’ but then an image of Alek enters my mind, and red-haired girls.

He sips his coffee. "Nice people?"

"Mostly."

"Oh?"

"I’ve only lived there a few of weeks; I haven’t got to know them properly."

"You’ll have to invite me over sometime." He grins at me, and I can’t figure him out.
Is he asking me on some kind of reverse date?

"Why?"

"Because I’m an awesome cook." Dimples grow when he grins, and I can’t help smiling back at him. Maybe we could be friends. I don’t get any vibes from him indicating he’s interested in me, but some of my friendships with guys have gone sour thanks to the whole friend-zone thing. Jamie was the only guy who friendship ever worked with, and Finn is nothing like Jamie.

"Yeah, okay." I say.

"How about tonight?"

I sink back in my seat and look at him. "What?"

"I could come over tonight and cook for you."

"I wasn’t thinking so soon
."

"You look like you could do with a good meal
. You’re pale.” He catches my warning look. “Most people like eating what I cook, and I’m sick of cooking just for myself." He pauses. "I live on my own and thought it would be less creepy than inviting you over."

Finn leans forward, face brightening expectantly. I stare at his
sensual mouth, suddenly transfixed by how he has the kind of lips a girl could dream about having on hers.

But not me. I shift my look to his eyes, wondering if his culinary skills just warmed me to him or if it’s just because I don’t want to go home to a house of secrets on my own.

****

When Finn
arrives at the house, for some reason, I’m as nervous as if I’m bringing a boyfriend around to meet my parents. I shake the ridiculous thought away and open the door. Finn stands on the top step, grinning as usual. For someone who was so sour-faced when I met him, he certainly grins a lot. He’s wearing a black shirt with a couple of buttons undone, revealing not quite enough, and nicely-fitting jeans, the kind that hug guys with great bodies in the perfect way. I grit my teeth against my hormonal side; I want a friend, not a lover.

"This will be so much better than pizza, I promise you." Finn shakes the carrier bag of supplies at me.

"How do you know I eat pizza?"

He doesn’t answer, but tips his head back, looking at the tall house. "How many other people live here?"

"Two, one just moved out." Grace left a couple of days ago. I knew she was going, but I wish she still lived here. She was the most normal thing about this place.

He makes a noise of surprise
and as he steps inside, I catch the fresh scent of his soap. "Kitchen?"

I point him in the direction and look around for my housemates. Normally, it’s only
Alek and me home around this time anyway. Music thumps from upstairs. Alek’s music. So, as usual, it
is
just us.

Finn busies himself chopping carrots and onions and I open a bottle of wine. I settle into one of the shaky wooden chairs and watch
; the easiness around the situation reminds me of time with Jamie. Maybe he’s like me, someone looking for new people to connect with; he isn’t trying to hit on me, after all.

"Are you sure you live with people?" asks Finn, turning to lean against the sink, waving the black spatula around. This is
odd; the only other guy who comes into this kitchen never cooks and has a beer bottle in his hand.

His emphasis on the word
‘people’ strikes me as odd. "People? Two of us work at the hospital and the other works somewhere else. Pretty sure we’re people?"

Finn rubs his cheek with the back of his hand. "I guess. Who’s that?" He points upwards.

"Alek." As if to add emphasis, the music grows louder.

"Hmm. That’s a bit rude. I hope he turns it down when you go to bed."

"He works at night."

Finn turns back to the sizzling pan. "That’s better for you then."

I sip on my wine, watching as Finn drops in chopped vegetables and pours in sauce. He tips the wok around like an expert.

"Are you sure you don’t want a drink?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Nope, but I might splash some of the wine in here." Finn holds out a hand and I pass him the bottle.

Conversation stalls
. I wait for Finn to open up with chatting about our hometowns, TV shows, music, anything. Instead, he hums along to Alek’s music and doesn’t speak. In a way, I’m relieved because I don’t want to talk about myself and because every time Finn does talk to me, I’m the topic.

"Where are you from?" I ask.

"London." He doesn’t turn round.

"You don’t have the accent."

"I didn’t live there long." Finn turns and leans across the table, grabbing the packet of rice. As he does, I catch his scent and it dizzies me as it triggers a hidden memory I can’t place my finger on. I grip the wine glass.

"You okay?"

"Yes, must be the wine."

"Lightweight!" He laughs. "You’ve only had one glass
; not even that, actually."

The amusement in his eyes retreats to a frown
; I catch a glimpse of as he turns around. I breathe in deeply, hoping the fainting isn’t coming on again.
Maybe I shouldn’t drink if I’m still taking the painkillers.

"Where are you from?" he asks.

I
spread my fingers on the table in front of me, concentrating on the cold linoleum table, and think what a stupid move it was to ask Finn where he was from. Of course, he’s going to ask about my home too, and then we’ll move onto what we did over the summer.

The music upstairs stops and the familiar sound of
Alek’s boots stomp downstairs.

“Hey, Casper…” The grin I heard behind his voice disappears as he walks into the kitchen and sees us. His brown eyes narrow beneath the dark hair falling across his face. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Finn.” He holds out a hand to shake, a formal gesture I find very strange and one Alek doesn’t accept.

Alek looks at Finn as if he’s something I brought in on the bottom of my shoe. “How did you get in?”

“He’s my guest, Alek.”

“I don’t like your guest.”

Something strange is in the room with us, a tension thickening the air as the two guys regard each other. I gulp down my glass of wine and sigh at the testosterone. Finn and Alek are on the edge of each other’s personal space and stare at each other. Finn’s stance is less aggressive; hopefully one of them is mature enough to back down. Behind Finn, the wok sizzles and spits so I get up to stir the meal. Finn steps to one side, breaking his standoff with Alek.

“I’d better go,” Finn says to me.

“Yeah, good idea.” Alek’s voice is as low as Finn’s, and his features are arranged into an expression threatening enough to make me run. I almost do.

“Finn’s my friend,” I snap, “and you don’t get to tell me who I can bring home.”

“See you tomorrow, maybe?” Finn grabs his jacket and bag, then edges around Alek. They’re almost the same height, although Finn is stockier and for a horrible moment, I think one of them is going to punch the other. Finn lingers for a moment, with an impassive look at Alek, before disappearing down the hallway.
The front door shuts.

After a few moments of catching up with the situation, I move to the kitchen counter and pour another glass of wine, then slam the bottle on the table. “What the
fuck
Alek?”

“I don’t like him.”

Alek is still in the doorway; he hasn’t moved since he saw me and Finn, but at least the dangerous look on his face left with Finn. He’s staring toward the window, barely registering me. Who does he think he is?

“How dare you, you asshole! He’s my friend.”

“I said, I don’t like him,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Why? Do you know him?

“No.”

“This is my home, too. I invite who I like! Do you have to like everyone who comes into this house? You don’t own it!”

“I got a bad…vibe from him; I don’t want him here.” Alek’s tone is low and imploring.

“Well, I get a bad vibe from you!”

Alek remains in the doorway, and as I attempt to get past him, he stretches an arm across. “Stay away from him.”

My fingers itch to push him away, but I don’t want to touch him. “He’s a friend from work who I’m sharing a meal with! So you don’t like him. Tough.”