Page 66 of Cream & Sugar
Relieved, I make a left at the next roundabout and drive us back to my block of flats. Once again, my heart is pounding. Is it possible to have a heart attack from emotional overstimulation? I guess I’ll find out.
“I’ll get to meet your cat!” Freddie announces.
“Yeah,” I say as I pull into my cul-de-sac, wrestling with the clutch. “Though he threw up in my shoe this morning so don’t be too nice to him.”
“Delightful,” Freddie says.
My usual parking spot has been taken so I’m forced to squeeze between a pair of four-by-fours. I park as best I can and switch off the engine, shifting in my seat to glance at Freddie. Twenty minutes of looking out the windscreen was almost long enough to forget how perfect he is. I grimace, dreading the conversation that’s about to happen.
We open our respective doors and clamber out of the car. At least, one of us does. I’m parked way too close to the vehicle on the right, meaning I’ve only got about a foot of wiggle room to drag myself through. On the other side, Freddie’s having problems too, but he’s slim enough to sidle free of the gap. I’m about halfway out when I get stuck, my belly pressed against the rim of the door, and my arse leaving a hefty print on my neighbour’s Jeep.
“You alright there?” Freddie asks, skirting around the bonnet.
“Yep,” I grunt, “just got to…”
I try to haul myself free, but I’ve wedged myself in like a doorstop. Bloody hell, why me?
Freddie laughs, affectionately. “Need a hand there, big fella?”
“Nope,” I place my free hand on the roof and try to prise myself free. No luck. I suck in my gut and attempt to squeeze myself back inside the car. That doesn’t work either. All options exhausted, I hang my head in defeat. “Yes, please.”
Freddie slips in between the cars, making it look easy, and takes hold of my forearm. “Ready? One, two, three!”
He pulls and I push and, with all the elegance of a shark on a trampoline, I spring free, stumbling over my own feet at the sudden momentum.
“Thank you,” I say, rubbing the spots where the metal dug into my flesh.
Embarrassing myself around Freddie is becoming an hourly occurrence. At least any tension between us, real or imaginary, seems to have dissipated for now.
“That’s the problem with being such a hunk,” Freddie exclaims as he shuts the door for me. “Too big for tight spaces.”
“Mmm,” I glance down at my gut, the gentle curved outline of it pressing against my shirt. “I should really take up jogging.”
“Nah,” Freddie says, without hesitation. “Nothing wrong with a beefcake who enjoys a bit of, well,actualcake. You look great.”
I manage a small smile.
We make our way inside, climbing the two flights of stairs to my flat. Upon opening the front door, Jester appears, his ginger tail dancing as he trots straight past me and coils himself around Freddie’s ankles.
“Why hello there, handsome!” Freddie squats down and scratches Jester’s ears. “You’re almost as good-looking as your dad.”
Freddie shoots me a wink that makes me melt.
“Come in,” I say, holding the door open for him.
He steps inside, Jester following keenly at his heels. I bring up the rear, closing the door behind me. With his hands on his hips, Freddie surveys my living room.
“Nice place!” he says. “Very neat.”
“Like your house,” I point out, hanging up my coat.
“Oh, that’s all Rory,” Freddie explains. “He likes things spotless. My room’s messy as hell but I’m forbidden from letting it spread.”
Truth be told, I don’t recall what state Freddie’s room was in—I’d been a little preoccupied looking anywhere but his crotch to notice.
“He’s quite strict, your brother?” I ask.
Freddie snorts. “That’s an understatement. His house is his temple. If I wasn’t a blood relative, he’d have evicted me years ago.”
