Page 29 of Just Like You
“Why are you wearing a shirt and tie?” I asked, trying to get out of his grip so I could breathe. My hands on his chest. His lips on my forehead.
Kisses. He was really into all this cuddling.
“Had to make a couple of work calls. Not supposed to be on holiday, so made it look like I was in the office. Kind of. Not sure I got away with it.”
“You probably didn’t. People are not that stupid.”
“I know.” He grimaced. Then he kissed me. Soft lips against mine.
“I didn’t take you for a cuddler.” I grinned. I liked it. Why the hell did I like this? This was weird and awkward and bloody hell, I needed to get dressed before I got myself into more trouble. “And look, I need a shower, and I usually douche before having…intercourse. I am not a total slob, and I apologise if there was…”
“Julian.”
Here he was again. Hands around my face.
“Do you honestly think I care? You’re just you and you’re human and some…things are expected. You just worked a long flight, and there will be…”
“I stink,” I admitted.
“And you’re gorgeous. In the shower then, and I will get your food set up. Outside?”
I did as I was told, still feeling mighty weirded out by everything this was. Like, that I walked out onto the patio to find tea and toast on a tray, a couple of cushions plumped up on the deckchair he’d arranged for me to sit on. His shirt now open, without the tie, his laptop on the side.
“I get hungry,” I said, wondering why I was spilling out all these unhinged phrases instead of talking about the weather. Commenting on the palm trees and the boat in the distance.
“I went and got some lunch earlier. Brought it back here and sat in the shade.”
“Nice.”
“Yes.”
Here we were again. Why the hell had I agreed to this?
“You’re lucky. Your office is a beach in the Maldives,” he commented, like this was normal.
“Still can’t pay for food here. I usually bring all my own stuff so I can feed myself in my room. Saves money. I have a mortgage.”
“That’s good thinking. Can’t spend money you don’t have. I learned that early on. My first pay cheque was thrilling and I kind of went wild and then realised I still had to buy food. Wasn’t my finest moment.”
An admission of imperfection. Perhaps I liked that.
“I bought a house with my first pay cheque. Well, it added to my small amount of savings, and I got a first-time buyer loan.”
“Very wise.”
Silence. My mouth chewing dry toast. I’d forgotten to butter it, being a little out of it still. Him sat there, elbows on his knees, a little too close for comfort.
“I’m happy in my house. It’s mine, my home, and I don’t think I ever want to share that. I like what I have,” I said, like I was trying to explain my inability to function. Sat here with a towel around my waist, letting the warm breeze dry my skin.
“I understand that.”
“I mean,” I bumbled on, again spitting crumbs all over myself. What was I like? Inhaling toast like an idiot as this guy just smiled at me. “You probably live in some penthouse apartment in the City and have a personal chef or something.”
Rude perhaps, but I think I’d stopped caring.
“I live in a tiny house in Highgate. Bought it after uni when prices were still reasonable. Slowly did it up, and I have a tiny garden. It suits me.”
“Really?”
