Page 27 of Thrown

“Shit, this is nice,” Tillman said as they walked into the large, well-appointed hotel room. His London accent was particularly noticeable, since he hadn’t had a reason to hide it all day.

“Only one bed,” Robbie said, rolling his eyes as he walked over and dumped his bag on the room’s single, king-size bed. That would be typical of Rebecca as well.

“If you don’t like it, you can sleep on the sofa,” Tillman said, marching over to drop his bag onto the large and, admittedly,comfortable-looking sofa against the far wall. He sat on it as well, and from the way he sank into the cushions, it probably was comfortable.

“I’m sorry about this,” Robbie said with a sigh, rubbing his forehead again. He was certain the headache he had was from staring so hard at the road all day, but it was possible that it was because he’d reached his limit emotionally. “Rebecca was either trying to save money or?—”

“Matchmake?” Tillman suggested with a sly smirk. He pushed up off the sofa and moved to the bureau, checking over the offerings for tea and coffee. “Don’t worry, mate. You’re not my type.”

For some ungodly reason, that comment filled Robbie’s insides with hopelessness. He wasn’t anyone’s type. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but as he sat on the edge of the bed and just watched Tillman as he examined the room like a child might have, a dozen, petty worries seemed to collapse on him all at once.

He was a talented ceramicist who was wasting his time teaching amateurs and children in his family’s home instead of fueling his ambition. That was probably the reason Keith had left him, why he hadn’t seen a future with the two of them together, raising a family. He should be doing better than he was, trying for more, making something of himself. Instead, he was hiding someplace he found comfortable. It was pathetic.

“Oy, mate, you alright?” Tillman asked once he’d completed a full circuit of the room, television remote in hand. He set that aside to turn his full attention to Robbie.

“Headache,” Robbie said, closing his eyes and pressing his temples, like he needed some sort of action to justify his words, because Tillman would think he was making everything up otherwise.

“Maybe they have some paracetamol in the bathroom,” Tillman said, striding away from him.

Robbie stood and unzipped his bag to start unpacking as Tillman checked. He’d only just gotten there, but already, he wanted to go home.

And wasn’t that the problem with him?

“Nothing in there,” Tillman said, coming out of the bathroom. “I’ll go down and check at the front desk. These posh places usually have stuff like that on tap. It’s late, so I might get supper, too. You want anything?”

“No,” Robbie said, then realized how hungry he was. “Yes. I don’t know.”

Tillman nodded at him, swiped the key card from the bureau, and headed for the door. “I’ll see what’s out there.”

It was a relief to have Tillman gone…and at the same time, Robbie wished he would come back. There was something about Tillman’s presence, as irritating as it was, that he needed. Damned if he could explain it, though.

He spent the time that Tillman was gone unpacking his bag, hanging the clothes that needed to be hung, and fetching a glass of water from the bathroom before sitting on the bed and turning on the telly. Nothing on any of the channels interested him, so he picked a random quiz show and let that play while he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Something had to change. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life as the boring member of the family, the one who never traveled, never had adventures. He had a Hawthorne family reputation to live up to. Just being an artist of medium renown wasn’t going to cut it. Especially if he ever hoped to be in a relationship again.

That thought left him wondering why Tillman wasn’t dating anyone. Or, maybe he was and he just kept that part of his life private. But no, after two weeks of Tillman spending his workdays at Hawthorne House, Robbie was certain he’d gotten to know the bastard well enough to know that he wasn’t seeing anyone. He knew him well enough now that he really ought to start calling him Toby, but pure stubbornness had kept him to surnames only.

“Alright, I’ve got paracetamol, and two steak and ale pies, since that’s the specialty of the place downstairs, and two beers, though you should probably drink water. I’ve got those, too,” Tillman announced as he marched back into the room half an hour later carrying a large bag with the restaurant downstairs’ logo printed on it.

Robbie had nodded off, but he jerked straight and tried to focus as Tillman brought a single-use packet of paracetamol and the bag over to the bed.

“Which do you want first?” he asked.

“Paracetamol,” Robbie said, taking the packet from him.

He only glanced to Tillman briefly before heading into the bathroom to take the pills. Now that he was back, having Tillman in the same hotel room with him made Robbie’s skin prickle and his breathing tight. He thought he might die if Tillman figured out he’d been sitting there, contemplating whether he was single.

When he stepped back into the bedroom, Tillman had turned the telly to a news channel and laid out the supper he’d brought on the bureau. He had his steak pie and leaned back on the sofa, chewing happily away while watching the news of the day. Robbie quietly fetched his supper, then had a seat on the other end of the sofa.

It was the quietest and most anti-climactic way to end the evening that Robbie could have thought of. It was just two blokes, eating what amounted to pub food while watching the disaster of world leaders on the telly.

Once the food was gone, they kept watching telly in companionable silence, barely even looking at each other. It was almost as if neither of them wanted to recognize that the other was there, and yet, Robbie had never felt so acutelywithsomeone as he did sitting on a sofa with Tillman.

By the time the late news had come on, Robbie had almost worked up the nerve to invite Toby to sleep in the bed with him instead of settling for the sofa.

“I don’t know about you, mate, but I’m knackered,” Toby said at last, getting up from the sofa and going to the closet, where Robbie had noticed a spare blanket earlier. “You want the bathroom first or can I get in there?”

“Go ahead,” Robbie said, standing and shuffling over to the bureau to fetch his sleep shirt.

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