Page 33 of Love, Academically
That plan was scuppered then.
“Are you awake?” Lila’s voice was soft and sleepy. “Rhys?” She shook his arm lying across her waist gently. “Rhys, you’re like a radiator. I’m boiling to death.”
He had to move now.
“Oh, hey,” he said, clearing his throat. He started to disentangle himself. “Uh, sorry, I don’t know—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, pulling her leg from his. Even first thing in the morning, she had a smile.
“What time is it?” he asked, lying on his cold side of the bed, covers pulled up to his chin.
As if summoned, Lila’s alarm went off, all tinkly dew drops and promises of sunshine.
“It’s seven fifteen,” she said, reaching for her phone. “Ugh, so early.”
“Seven fifteen?” He sat bolt upright in her bed, the duvet falling around him.
He’d overslept by an hour and fifteen minutes. He was usually on his way to work by now. It would take at least twenty minutes to get to the university from here, and Rhys would take any bet that Lila Cartwright did not rush in the morning, especially with a sprained ankle.
“We’ve got to get moving,” he said urgently, reaching for his trousers and trying to adjust his underwear discreetly before pulling them on, not caring if Lila caught more than a fleeting glimpse of his boxers. He thrust his arms into his shirt.
“What do you mean? Work doesn’t start until nine, Rhys. We’ve got plenty of time,” she said, the duvet falling away from her as she sat up.
“I like to be in by eight by the absolute latest. I have things to do,” he shot back at her, and ran a hand through his hair. Fuck, he sounded like a dick. She’d been kind to him. “Sorry. I just have a routine.”
“Okay, well so do I, and it involves a cup of tea and a slice of toast.” She swung her legs out of the bed.
Rhys blew out a breath as she stood up, testing her weight on her ankle.
It was okay. He didn’t have any lectures until ten. So what if he wasn’t there at eight? Once didn’t matter, did it?
“Do you want a cup of tea?” Lila asked, shuffling to the door. She pulled her tangled blonde hair over one shoulder.
“I’ll do it.” Rhys moved quicker in three seconds than she had in twenty. “How’s your ankle?”
“It’s much better, although it’ll take me a while to get anywhere without crutches.”
He should carry her downstairs again, shouldn’t he? That would be quicker.
“Go put the kettle on. I can make it to the bathroom and bum shuffle down the stairs.”
He nodded and escaped her bedroom.
It hadn’t been that long since he’d been in a woman’s bedroom, but it had been an awfully long time since he had woken up in one the morning after. Staying over wasn’t something he generally enjoyed. He didn’t have any of his stuff, he didn’t usually sleep well and other people didn’t know his routine.
Not that this was the morning after. It wasn’t, because nothing had happened. Except he had made a complete twat out of himself.
Rhys put the kettle on and made sure his shirt was tucked in, doing his best to pull the overnight creases out, despite it hanging neatly on the back of Lila’s chair. The toilet flushed and what felt like half an hour later, Lila flopped onto the sofa, still in her pyjamas.
“Do you take sugar?” Rhys called to her, putting a slice of bread in the toaster.
“Yes, two in the morning, please.”
He made both cups (his black, hers less black) and brought the hastily buttered toast into the front room, balancing them on the squidgy ottoman in front of Lila. She was watching somemorning TV show that he had never seen because he was usually nearly at work by now.
“Here you are,” he said pointedly.
“Thanks, Rhys,” she said with a smile, and nibbled at her toast. He practically downed the scalding tea in one go. His knee bounced.
