Page 47 of The Refusal

“To code,” his dad says dryly, and I can’t tell if he’s making a joke like we were planning to do something else. I blush to the roots of my hair, although I’m not sure why: We reallyaregoing to code.

“Yes,” Janus says, heavy creases appearing between his eyebrows as he squints at his father. “I don’t get much opportunity to do that now. I’m counting on Jo putting up with my rusty programming skills.”

My blush just won’t go away, and his dad chuckles as he pulls himself up from the couch. He heads over and bends down to kiss my cheek.

“Lovely to meet you, Jo,” he says, straightening. “I hope we see you again in the not too distant future. You keep this young idiot in check.”

I laugh up at him. “Of course,” I say, winking at Janus. “That goes without saying.”

29

Janus

Sun is streaming into the study despite the cold spring day and the blinds protecting us from the glare outside, so I drag my sweater up and over my head, the static pull of my T-shirt making my hair crackle. When I emerge, I catch Jo’s head turn, but when I look at her she’s engrossed in something on her screen. I stare at her bent head, wisps of wayward red hair escaping from a hair tie she produced from somewhere. She’s sitting on my large bean bag, one foot tucked up underneath her bottom with Swivels wedged in beside her, fast asleep. He always curls up in here when I work, but he doesn’t seem perturbed by having an extra guest in his bed: He’s stretched out on his back, paws folded on his chest as if he hasn’t a care in the world. Jo is swamped by the bag, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, and as I turn my attention back to the screen her eyes flick to mine, color rising in her cheeks.

“Okay?” she says.

I nod at her, pretending that I’ve not been watching her each time she shifts and her T-shirt twists and molds itself to her frame. I can’t remember when I noticed that she wasn’t wearing a bra, but I wish I hadn’t. Now I can’t seem to drag my gaze anywhere else. Every time she asks me a question about Python, I have to pay attention and listen to the drumbeat in my head that keeps repeatingeyes up, eyes up.I want to concentrate on my software. I do.

The sunlight is casting a zebra pattern over the desk, and when I look at my monitor, the code there looks like hieroglyphics. God. Leaning back in the chair, I straighten my arms over my head and make my spine pop. Is it too early for alcohol? The time on my screen says 5 p.m., thank Christ. Jo’s eyes are narrowed on her laptop, and I risk a glance at her chest like a creeper. The soft curve of her breast and the outline of her nipple sends a shiver through me. I almost groan out loud. How have I got myself into this tortuous situation? I move my eyes away, but her gaze has shifted to me.

Friends. Friends. Friends who code.

“He’s cute,” she says, stroking Swivel’s tummy, and he stretches all his paws out and opens a lazy eye.

Lucky cat. I’d give my right arm to have her stroke my stomach like that.

“He’s a menace,” I say, rolling my shoulders like an idiot. “Time for a beer?” I shift out of my chair and head to the door, throwing a casual “You want anything?” over my shoulder.

“Oooh, wine would be lovely,” she says as I head out of the study, and I can hear her straightening herself in the way her words come out. I resist the temptation to look back and ogle her body. My socks scud over the warm floor to the kitchen, and I pull a cold bottle out of the wine fridge, setting it down on the countertop before resting my hands either side of it and breathing slowly in and out through my nose.

Her voice floats through the walls. “When are your mom and dad back home, Janus? I don’t want them to think we’ve been drinking all day or anything.”

Instead of what they were thinking: I’m still half-mad at them for that.

“They didn’t say, but don’t worry about the alcohol: They’re partial to a drink or two themselves. Would you rather be gone before they come back? I appreciate that they’re a total pain in the ass and I can—”

“God no, they’re lovely, although somewhat invested in their son finding a girlfriend.” The laughter in her voice sounds much, much closer, and I turn my head to find her standing in the gap between the island and the wall, dust motes swirling in the warm air around her. I ease back from where I’m gripping the bench like my life depends on it.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” I bite my lip and start rummaging in the drawer for a bottle opener, popping my beer open with jittery hands and grabbing a wineglass from the cupboard, all without looking at her once.Get it together.“Stuck on a tricky problem, you know?” The lie trips so easily off my tongue. I unscrew the wine, and the golden liquid coats the side as I pour. I turn to press it into her outstretched hand. The light catching her hair makes it look like smoldering embers. I swallow.

“You fancy doing something else?” she says.

I gaze at her, dumbfounded. The silence that follows goes on far too long.

Her eyes widen, and she reaches out to tap my arm, a pink flush starting up on her neck.

“That’s not what I meant! Get your head out of the gutter. I thought we could watch TV or something?”

I tip my beer back, grinning. “Definitely ‘or something,’” I mutter around the bottle, and I’m gratified when her mouth twitches, eyes darting away like she doesn’t want to acknowledge what I’ve said. Her gaze drops to my neck as I swallow, drifting up to where my lips are firm on the glass. It gives me a hot thrill.

“You’ve got games?”

She clears her throat and nods to the controllers sitting on one of the sofas opposite my huge screen and my stomach sinks at the neat subject switch, but I obediently play the distraction game.

“I’m a guy?”

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