Page 48 of On Circus Lane

“No, I don’t. You’ve basically told me I’m right and still wrong.”

“Ah, grasshopper, such is life.”

Caro, one of the girls from next door, approaches, and Freddy winks at her. “Fancy a shag?” he asks.

She snorts. “I’ve had better offers, but yeah, okay.”

He grins and then follows her out, waving goodbye. There’s a mass of movement as everyone calls goodnight.

I wander out onto the balcony, feeling the freezing air hit me, blowing away the cobwebs in my brain from alcohol and the heat of the flat. The city sparkles like someone threw a net of fairy lights over it. I lean on the balcony, watching the heavy clouds overhead.

The door opens, and I know it’s Bee before I even turn around. It’s like someone tuned me into his frequency without me knowing about it. “Had a good night?” I ask.

“I think the true scale of my enjoyment will be felt tomorrow morning.”

My stomach tightens at his warm chuckle. I’ve heard it more and more as the evening went on. He laughs like a child does—raucously and completely uninhibited—and it’s infectious.

He’s so much more than I thought when I’d first met him and he was a bundle of attitude, truculence, and hangover.

He leans on the balcony, swaying a little, and I automatically put my hand out to steady him. I’d do it for anyone, but his expression comprises surprise and gratitude as if I’m the first man to ever perform such courtesies for him. It makes me feel ten feet tall.

“Careful,” I say.

He chuckles. “Yes, I do not wish to become a pavement pancake.” He has the precise diction of someone who is pissed. “I still have another four or five degrees to attain.”

I watch him, as he’s far more interesting than the view. “Do you have any more degrees than the ones you already mentioned?” He wrinkles his nose, and I start to laugh. “You’re actually having to stop and think about it?”

He shoves my arm gently, but my heart starts to hammer as he keeps his hand on my wrist, idly caressing the skin under my jumper. I shiver, and he looks up at me, his eyes suddenly dark and full of heat.

I think of my bank statement to calm the heat. Even if I wanted to reconsider my abstinence game plan, which is more of a mad idea at the moment, I still wouldn’t do anything while he’s this pissed. I clear my throat. “Well?"

He stares at my lips for a second and then blinks like a little owl, shoving his glasses up onto the bridge of his cute nose. “DidI mention the Open University one? It was an ancient history one. I took that part-time because I needed to relax.”

“Really? I usually just go to the pub.”

He chuckles again, staring out at the view once more, but he keeps hold of my wrist, his fingers stroking the soft skin and distracting me dreadfully. His next words bring me back to the moment.

“I was at Oxford University when I was fourteen.”

“What?”

He grins at me. “I took my A levels when everyone else was starting to think about what they’d take for their GCSEs.”

“Wow. I’ve read about kids doing that. I’ve never met one before.”

He hiccups softly. “Well, now you have.”

“What was it like?”

Every time I think he can’t get any more fascinating, he manages it. It’s like unwrapping the present in Pass the Parcel and discovering brighter and bolder paper underneath.

He shrugs, turning and leaning his back on the balcony. I immediately put my arm across his back, grabbing his hip to keep him from going over. He hums, seemingly unconcerned about his safety, but still nestles a little into me.

“It was okay,” he finally says. “I mean, it was fascinating to be at Oxford. We lived there, and I was familiar with the uni, but to be there attending lectures at the Mathematical Institute wasincredible.”

“But?” I ask as he falls silent.

“Eh? Oh, it was also a bit isolating.”

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