Page 6 of Charlie Sunshine
I pull on a pair of pyjama shorts and, winding my hair up in a top-knot, I wander out of the room, only to come to a complete stop. I barely manage not to swallow my tongue at the sight of Misha.
He’s walking out of his bedroom dressed in only a towel. The navy-coloured fabric hugs his lean hips and accentuates his sleek olive skin. He’s obviously just got out of the shower because water droplets decorate his chest. I swallow hard. His broad hairy chest. I’m fascinated. I haven’t seen Misha nearly nude in a few years and the last time was in a changing room, and he was very skinny then. Now he’s all lean lines and tight muscles.
“I imagine this is what David Gandy must feel like,” comes an amused voice.
“Hmm,” I say absentmindedly. Misha has very tight V lines. He’s like a statue.
“Yes, I imagine that David frequently has to say, ‘My eyes are up here, Charlie.’”
That gets through my fog. “Why would he be saying that to me? Why on earth would I want to look at David Gandy’s eyes when there’s so much other treasure to view?”
He’s watching me steadily, a glint of amusement in his deep blue eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so methodically stripped in my life, Charlie. Shame on you. My eyes are up here, not in my crotch.”
“That’s very disturbing.” I consider the thought. “I suppose if that were the case, we’d all walk around naked on our bottom halves.”
“Why?” he asks faintly.
“So we can see. Keep up. Your three-eyed penis wants to have a clear sight of what’s ahead.”
“What’s ahead is a short stay in a mental institution,” he advises me.
I laugh, but it sounds alarmingly dreamy as I lick my lips and look at the trail of dark hair that runs down from his belly button.
He tightens his towel. “Okay, this isn’t awkward at all. Well done, Charlie.”
His voice is heavily sarcastic, and I blink to clear my eyes of my temporary madness, relieved that he’s acting normal. Unlike me, who’s acting as if I haven’t seen a naked man in a century. I think back and wince. Actually, there might not be so much acting involved. And I’ve got a boyfriend who’s not happy about the lack of nudity time.
I dismiss the thought as I realise Misha’s still watching me intently. His eyes have darkened into a deep navy, and his gaze is steady and intense and seems to be concentrated on my abs. I swallow hard, and the nervous clicking sound in my throat seems to bring him round and put an end to our mutual insanity.
“Let’s …” He clears his throat and then gets his words back. “Let’s agree never to do this again.”
“Vote seconded and carried.”
“Aye,” we both say together.
He tilts his head slightly. “Charlie, what is that awful noise coming from your bedroom?”
“Oh, that’ll be my prisoner,” I say cheerfully. “He’s always very vocal in the mornings until I can drug him for the day ahead.”
Misha blinks. “I think I’d prefer that to the reality of the fact that there appears to be Christmas music coming from your room.”
“It’s Jona Lewie and stop whingeing,” I instruct, walking past him and heading down the corridor.
The lounge is a big room made light and airy by the original floor-to-ceiling windows and patio doors leading to a balcony that overlooks the River Thames. The building had been a spice warehouse in Victoriantimes, and the architects who converted the place into flats kept historical details like the wooden flooring, beams, and the warehouse windows.
Misha’s version of interior design was to paint the non-brick walls white and buy an extremely expensive leather settee that stripped off an outer layer of your epidermis if you got sweaty. With the addition of some modern art on the walls that I’m convinced he bought when he was pissed, it was beautiful but sterile.
After a few days of me being here, it looks drastically different. My design contribution makes me smile. The black leather monstrosity has gone and in its place is a gorgeous orange velvet sectional settee. It’s big and deep and insanely comfortable and Misha moaned like hell about buying it, saying it looked like clown furniture, but I noticed he wasn’t complaining when he sat in the thing on the first night. I think it’s lovely. I like bright rich colours and the orange makes the brick walls look warm and homely.
“I think there’s a reason that Jona Lewie only had a couple of hits, and you’re listening to it,” Misha says, coming up next to me.
“He features heavily on my Christmas playlist. He’s the embodiment of our childhood, Misha.”
“So are Vicks VapoRub and Calpol. I don’t see you rushing to add them to the flat.”
I walk towards the kitchen, aware of him dogging my heels like a sexily half-naked?—
I stop the end of that thought and replace it with, “like a nosy dachshund.”
