Page 96 of Composed
“I don’t think I can.”
Chapterthirty
Cole • Now
Iris – New Found Glory
Thesoundofadoor slamming shut has me poking my head out into the hallway.
Saint stands outside the flat opposite mine. He slips a hand into the back pocket of his dark wash jeans, his gaze locked on the wall.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
He swings his head side to side. “Nothing.”
I sniff the air, but there’s only the lingering scent of chemicals from the cleaners today.
“Are you off your tits right now?” I tilt my head, scanning his face for any signs of intoxication.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’s got loaded randomly on a weeknight. But he tries to stay away from the hard shit when we’re home. Theo has never loved his penchant for snorting snow, so he sticks to bud and nicotine as much as he can.
“No.” He scowls and waves me off. “I was just checking all the flats out. Me and Theo were talking about maybe moving.”
I poke my tongue into my cheek, my lips twisting. “A floor up?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, as if the idea of moving into another flat in the same building you already live in makes all the sense in the world. “Your floor’s shit, though. So we’ll stay where we are.”
I rub my aching temples. “Okay, then.”
“What are you up to? You busy?”
“I was just gonna chuck some clothes on, then probably head into the studio.”
“Cool. I’ll hang with you. I feel like we never spend any time together anymore.”
“We’re together every day.”
He shoves past me, and drops onto my couch. “You can show me what you and Rix have been up to.”
I snort, tightening the towel around my waist and slicking my damp hair back. “There’s not much to show. She’s back home at the minute, so we’re on a pause.”
He nods, licking his legs up on my coffee table. “Oh is she? I had no idea.”
“Yeah.” A frown tugs my lips as he stares at the black TV screen. “Back tomorrow, I think. We haven’t spoken since she’s been gone.”
“Cool cool.” He raps his knuckles on his thigh.
What the hell is happening right now?
I’ve known Saint since we were five years old, and he’s always been a pretty weird dude. Throw in his tendency to smoke weed, snort coke, and drink more beer than he probably should, he’s never been someone I’d considerchill. But this might be the weirdest I’ve seen him in a long time.
When he doesn’t say anything more, I head for my bedroom.
I pull on black sweats and a matching hoodie before shoving my feet into black converse. Pocketing my phone in my pocket, I scoop up my keys and hook them around my thumb.
Saint follows me out of my flat and down into the live room, where he sets up on the couch, acoustic guitar in his lap.
“Show me what you’ve got so far,” he says.
