Page 56 of Flare

“Shh. A boy can dream, can’t he?” He grinned. “Now go do what you have to. And tell Beck hi for me.”

“You think you’re so smart.” I pulled him into another hug, clearly going for an all-time record. “But thanks for everything.”

He squeezed me tight, then wiggled free, his cheeks flaming. “Yeah, yeah. Watch the shirt, arsehole. It’s by some crazy good designer you wouldn’t know.”

I laughed and headed for the door.

CHAPTERELEVEN

Rhys

It took almostforty minutes and several wrong turns to track down the faculty of English via the campus map boards and through the sometimes less than inspiring patchwork of university buildings. Smack bang in the centre of downtown, the University of Auckland grew up with the city nibbling relentlessly at its campus boundaries and busy streets criss-crossing its muddled campus.

Half the buildings were indistinguishable from the surrounding corporate office spaces, and there were precious few green leafy oases between them to share a lunch or contemplate lofty cerebral heights—Albert Park, a space popular with city workers, was as good as it got. And yet for all its geographical drawbacks, the university had a quirky, hip charm all its own—bubbling and youthful innovation bleeding life into the humdrum of city life—the corporate, creative, and the intellectual locked in an uncomfortable but strangely electrifying embrace, and I kind of loved it.

B146. I repeated the office number over and over in my head as I made my way up the oddly colourful hallway painted in lemon and a deep russet red. I’d garnered a few looks along the way and supposed that a black and white check suit, with a white organza see-through shirt and a fuckton of eyeliner, was probablynotthe usual attire seen in these hallways. What was it with English students and their fondness for sheepskin boots and sweats?

On the second to last door at the far end of the corridor, I finally found Beck’s name plate. I raised my hand to knock, only to catch the sound of laughter inside.

Shit.He had company. I thought about it for two seconds, then knocked anyway. I wasn’t leaving without clearing the air.What do you want your life to look like?My new mantra.

“Come in.”

I pushed the door open, stepped inside, and two pairs of eyes immediately landed on me. I wasn’t sure which of the three of us was more shocked, although Beck’s gaping mouth probably won the prize for overall effect, followed a close second by mine because... holy shit.

Beck’s beard.

He’d trimmed it, shaved it, whatever. The effect was so startling, my brain crashed and all I could do was stare.

And of course, he flushed, his hand instantly rising to his mouth, a shy, nervous expression on his face.

“Rhys?” He stood but didn’t move.

“Um, hi.” With my brain still on lockdown, I turned my attention to Beck’s companion, a handsome man with a rakish grin, perched on the corner of Beck’s desk and looking altogether too cosy with the man I’d come to see.

I stalled for a second, then finally managed, “Sorry, I should’ve called.”

Beck jolted to attention and rounded the desk in a couple of seconds. “No,I’msorry. Jesus, look at me leaving you standing there. Come in, please.” He waved a hand at the other man whose amused gaze was dancing between us. “This, for all my sins and to my infinite dismay, is my best friend, Rafe. Rafe, this is—”

“The famous Rhys. Yes, I can see that.” Rafe pushed off the desk and offered me his hand.

He was almost as tall as Beck and with equally long hair, although his fell in golden waves instead of Beck’s darker locks. Shrewd blue eyes regarded me with a calculating stare that was softened somewhat by a roguish grin, a grin that promised trouble in big fat capital letters.

“I’ve heard anawfullot about you, Rhys.” The emphasis carried a great deal of meaning and I didn’t need to guess what exactly he knew.

Everything.

Thank Christ for my mother’s olive skin to hide the worst of my flaming cheeks. “I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or not,” I admitted, shaking his hand and making an effort to match the crushing strength. Message received. Rafe cared about Beck and he was making damn sure I knew it.

“Rafe was just leaving.” Beck shoved his friend toward the door.

“Was I?” Mischief danced in those blue eyes, and for all his protective posturing, I found myself warming to him.

Beck scowled. “Yes, you were.” He pushed a coat into Rafe’s hands and steered him into the hall. “See you tomorrow.”

“But we haven’t finish—”

Beck clicked the door shut and turned to me. “I’m sor—” He jolted forward as the door hit him on the back and Rafe stuck his head inside... again.

---