Page 18 of Take My Breath Away
“Filthy, stinking, nasty, a threat to human health?”
Perry sighs, and shakes his head. “I suppose I’ve been lucky in where I’ve lived. But there must be something better out there?” He looks at me with downcast eyes, and I want to shoutyes, there is, you’re bloody well there now…But I don’t say anything, not yet. He had to do this, to see what the alternative is.
“I feel like I need to have a good scrub and soak in the bath for a few hours.” He pushes his fingers through his hair, and pulls them out sharp. “God, you don’t think I’ve picked up anything from there do you?” His eyes are wide, and horrified.
I shrug. “Fleas, probably. Maybe even lice.”And a large dose of reality.
“Oh, God…” He shudders, and I can’t help smiling.
“I’ll have to start looking again tomorrow. Maybe be a bit more specific.”
My smile disappears.
“Let’s forget about that for now. We’ll go home and you can have that scrub in the bath whilst I order a takeaway. Pizza from Angelo’s okay?”
The thinnest, crispiest pizza from the excellent little Italian just five minutes from the house. It puts a smile on his face, and brings mine back. It’s the first thing we’ve had to smile about in the last three hours as we’d trudged from one slum to the next. But I’m going to make sure I put an even bigger smile on his face when we’re home, because I’m going to make him an offer I’m determined he won’t refuse.
Chapter Ten
PERRY
“All the fleas washed away, I hope?” James asks, as he dishes out the pizza and pours a couple of large glasses of wine.
“Think so, but I’m not so sure of the lice.” I rub at my hair, still damp from the soak in the bath. I smile but there’s a sting in our words.
The houses we saw earlier were disgusting and from what I’ve looked at online, it’s depressingly clear I’m just going to find more of the same crappy, slummy rooms.
“Thanks,” I mumble as I take a seat at the kitchen table.
It’s only early evening, but the sky outside is dark with heavy rain clouds. It’s a dank, chilly, English summer evening, and the perfect match for my mood. At least here in the kitchen it’s warm and the air’s laced with oil, garlic and herbs. In the background, bluesy jazz is playing. It’s not what I’d normally listen to but I like it.
Taking a sip of the chilled wine, I sigh, and sink back into my chair.
It’s lovely here, in this beautiful kitchen in this amazing house. But it’s not just the bricks and mortar, it’s James. The sexy silver fox with the come to bed eyes has been so good to me when he really has no reason to. The man who every time he turned up to visit Elliot would flirt outrageously with me… I know he was having a bit of harmless fun at my expense, but it didn’t stop the tingle dancing down my spine, or the flutter deep in my belly, but I suppose that’s what happens when you have a crush.
Crush. Jesus, I’m twenty-five, not fifteen. I’m not supposed to have acrush.Or at least I don’t think I am. It’s my little secret and I’m going to have to keep it tucked away and out of sight from a certain pair of moss green eyes, because if he guesses…
Oh, God, talk about embarrassing…
But, however lovely the house is, and however good James is to me, I have to remember it’s nothing more than a stop gap. At some point soon I’ll be moving on and this little breathing space, us sharing a meal at the blond wood table, will be over. And for what? Blocked toilets, a space in a fridge that stank like it had a corpse thawing out in it, and the dubious company of a guy with a flaking skin complaint.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck,fuck.
“Stop looking at the pizza and get your chops around it. I could say it’ll make you feel better, but I think it’d take a lot more than one of Angelo’s finest.”
“They were so, so awful,” I blurt out, taking no notice of the food on my plate.
James throws back his head and laughs, filling the kitchen with its rich rumble.
“Awful? Well I must say, that’s a very polite way of putting it. Perry, my dear, I’ve shat in better — and cleaner — places than any of those hovels we looked at earlier.”
I glare at him across the table. Even though I don’t doubt that at all, I don’t want to be told.
“Yes, they’re nasty but those hovels are within my price range. And I don’t like being laughed at because of it. I’m sorry they’re not Highgate, that they’re grotty terraces and badly converted semis, but they’re all I can stretch to at the moment.”
He stops laughing and stares at me, his expression unreadable. I’ve snapped, and bitched, and been bad tempered when all he’s done is lend me a hand and pointed out the truth. I’m ashamed of myself, and he deserves an apology.
“James, I—”
