Page 8 of Friends Rucked Up

He searches through a drawer in the kitchen and finally pulls something out. “This is my spare key. Keep it for now so you can come and go as you please.”

“Thanks,” I say as he passes it to me.

His hand brushes mine as the cold metal settles on my palm. A zing of electricity tingles up my arm, but I ignore it.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” he says before jogging out the door like my building wasn’t the only thing on fire.

“Bye,” I say, but he left so fast he might not have heard me.

Did he feel the spark too? Is he acting weird, or am I paranoid?

Maybe I should try to find somewhere else to sleep tonight so things don’t get more awkward. It seems like he’s regretting inviting me to stay or maybe I’m suspicious because it really makes me feel on edge.

I’m still trying to figure Alfie out when it’s time for me to leave for work. I finish up my coffee and place the cup in the sink. I have an eight-hour shift to mull over my thoughts.

***

“What happened to your uniform?” Gordon asks as I deliver his newspaper and a fresh cup of tea.

I look down trying not to cringe at the oversized t-shirt and trousers. They were the only spare uniform I could find in the staff room. I’ve had to use a safety pin to hold everything together. I’m a petite girl and this outfit is doing nothing for me. The trousers are rolled over at the top a zillion times and a safety pin was still needed to nip them in.

“Don’t judge me until you’ve heard the full story. There was a fire in my building last night. Luckily, no one was hurt, but they wouldn’t give me access until someone has assessed the damage. I’ve had to borrow these clothes from the lost and found box.” I’m aware I look ridiculous, but what choice did I have?

“You look like you’ve been swallowed by a fabric monster. Actually, you look absurd.” He takes the newspaper glancing at the front page as my cheeks warm.

Maybe I should’ve made my excuses to my manager and found something from the local supermarket to wear. I’m sure the second-hand clothing shop would’ve had a plain t-shirt and black trousers.

“Thanks, Gordon. You know how to cheer a girl up,” I say sarcastically. He’s always real with me and usually I like it, but today I wouldn’t have minded him holding back.

“Did you at least manage your phone call with your brother?” He turns the page, skimming through the stories.

I guess my appearance isn’t shocking enough to interrupt his daily routine.

“I did, thank you. Luckily, I got to Alfie’s place before the fire broke out. I wouldn’t want to evacuate in a panic, that would’ve been scary. It was bad enough seeing the smoke escaping outof one of the windows while the firemen were inside. That was real enough for me.” A shudder runs down my spine and I desperately want to forget about what could’ve happened if people hadn’t responded so quickly.

“Harlan was sitting in some gorgeous rooftop bar with a beer. It looks like he’s having a great time as usual, although he did hint he might come home for the end of the rugby season.” The idea of my brother coming home excites me, although I don’t want to get my hopes up in case his plans change.

“Why would he do that?” He frowns like he doesn’t understand.

“I already told you that Alfie plays for the Selby Scarabs rugby team, remember? Harlan wants to support his friend.” I think he’s finally remembering what I’ve already told him, but his response shocks me.

“Were you alone with this man last night?” He lowers the paper to give me disapproving eyes.

“It’s the twenty-first century, we didn’t need a chaperone.” I tsk, rolling my eyes.

Gordon holds traditional values which I respect, but I’m a modern woman. I can spend time with anyone I like.

“I know what men are like. It may be hard to believe, but I was young once.” His stern gaze doesn’t ease up and I know he’s just looking out for me.

“I’ve seen the pictures of you and your wife. You were pretty handsome.” I give him a bright smile, hoping to stir the conversation in a different direction.

“Yes, but before Angie, I dated a fair few young ladies.” His hard stare softens as he reminisces.

“Gordon,” I say, trying to sound shocked. “Are you trying to tell me you were a player?”

“Player?” he asks in confusion.

“A ladies’ man,” I clarify with a term he might be more familiar with.

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