Page 49 of On Circus Lane

“At fourteen?” I think of my first year at uni, which seemed to be mainly aimed at testing my alcoholic and sexual limits, and maybe considering a try at the world record for consuming the most amount of beer and kebabs. “I bet it was.”

A smile plays on his full lips. “I was fourteen, and my dad was a fairly famous don.”

“I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse,” I say, doing a terrible impression of Marlon Brando.

He chuckles, giving me a little shove, and then returns to his memories. “Everyone was very nice, but I was never part of anything. They couldn’t include me in the pub, and I hadn’t had those valuable couple of years of growing up that they’d had, so I wasn’t on their level emotionally either. I was isolated from sex and alcohol.”

“They formed my entire university career.”

He laughs. “I wish it had been mine. I got used to people either staring at me like I was an exhibit in a museum or looking right through me. Even now, I struggle with being dismissed, which is not one of my best character traits.”

He stares at me as though I should understand something, and then it comes to me. He told me I’d looked right through him when I first met him.

I nudge him. “I’m sorry.”

“Eh?” He seems to take it as a general comment on his university career rather than a personal apology. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I made up for it later on.”

He turns sideways, leaning into me and shivering, which is hardly surprising as he’s only wearing a thin T-shirt. I put my arm over his shoulders.

“God, you’re so warm,” he says throatily, and my cock immediately stiffens because that voice says Sex with a capital S.

An alarm roars in my head because I’m very susceptible to him in this current mood, where he’s soft from drink and memories.

He studies me, and I swear there’s a spark of laughter and interest in those clever eyes. His mouth quirks, making me smile helplessly back.

There’s a sound at the door and I turn to see Ivy and Sal watching us. Ivy’s face is vivid with amusement and affection.

“Yes?” Bee asks, rolling his eyes.

“Do you want that portable speaker?” she asks. “It’s in my room.”

“Yes, please. I struggle to sleep if I can’t have my thunderstorm sounds on.”

“Come and get it, then.”

He offers me a heated look before following Ivy into the flat.

My sister eyes me, and I lean against the balcony casually, offering her a smirk that always, without fail, irritates her.

“Yes, can I help you?” I drawl.

She grimaces. “I cannotbeginto imagine how you’d help me, Tom. I’m not sufficiently desperate to take your advice, and if ever that day comes, I will retire from the world.”

“I giveexcellentadvice.”

“Was it you who told Arlo that skateboarding could help with his balance?”

I subside. “I still think that would have worked if he’d just given it a chance.”

“Tom, he wiped out in two seconds and took out three ten-year-olds at the same time. He’s banned from that skate park for life.” I snort, and she watches me for a few seconds. “I don’t want to know,” she says.

I nod. “Wise words.”

She narrows her eyes in her usual sisterly disdain and heads back into the flat.

I turn back to the view, but I don’t see the city’s lights or the cloudy sky. I see Bee’s full, pillowy lips and bright blue eyes. I tap the balcony’s railing. This has the makings of the best Christmas holiday ever.

I wake up with the sense that something’s changed. Fred’s bed is empty, so he’s obviously staying the night next door. I hear a soft pattering against my window. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and look out.

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