Page 13 of Inbetweeners
Hehadto be gay, but… “Are you gay?”
“Oh my God. I say all that and you ask me if I’m gay?” Phoenix gaped at him.
“Fuck you.”
“I’d rather fuck you.”
“Never going to happen.”
Emmett almost went into the bedroom to read his book, but instead, he settled at the other end of the couch and read it there. He wasnotgoing to get pushed out of the main room by this…wanker.
Every few minutes, Phoenix roared his approval of some barbarous act on the screen or shouted encouragement or criticism at the players. As far as Emmett could see, the game was an excuse for a brawl.
They shouldn’t be spending their time watching TV. The whole point was to be out looking for dead people, who most definitely weren’t going to come looking for them. He didn’t think. Unless maybe they got a reputation for helping people move on. But were these dead people they were supposed to find anxious to move on or did they want to stay?
Emmett went to stand in front of the TV. “We should be out doing our job.”
“Knock yourself out. And shift your arse.”
“Tar didn’t mention the hours, but nine to five seems reasonable.”
Phoenix rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, shut up, you boring twat and get out of the way.”
Emmett moved to one side.
“Michaels, Michaels!” Phoenix yelled at the screen. “What are you doing! You moron!”
“We should be working,” Emmett insisted.
“Fine. Go and work.”
“We’re supposed to be doing this together.”
“Who says?”
Fuck you!“I don’t like your attitude.”
“I don’t like your face.”
Emmett left the flat. The guy was insufferable. He was an arrogant, aggravating arsehole. It wasn’t going to be easy to work and live with someone when you couldn’t stand the sight of them. Emmett’s mind immediately slid in the opposite direction and he struggled to drag it back. Phoenix wasn’t hard to look at. He might not like Emmett’s face, but Emmett liked his, even the scar. Unfortunately. He was more than easy to look at. He was…don’t choke on the word…gorgeous. But totally untouchable because he was just…wrong.
Was Phoenix really an angel? How did he get into Heaven if he was a thief? Were there levels of sin that were acceptable? Theft wasn’t as bad as murder or rape, but people didn’t deserve to have their hard-earned money lifted from their pockets, or their possessions taken from their homes. Emmett had never stolen anything in his life. He abhorred thieves.
So why hadn’t he said anything earlier in the pub? He could have told the guy that Phoenix had stolen his wallet. He didn’t even know then that they were roommates. It would have been the decent thing to do. And yet…
He knew why he hadn’t said anything. Saying he couldn’t stand the sight of Phoenix was such a lie. He had beautiful eyes, perfect bone structure and a dangerously sexy scar. He looked appealingly frightening. It appeared Emmett had a thing for bad guys. A thought that made him swallow hard. Lust, that had most definitely done a bunk after he’d landed in heaven, had come roaring back with bells on.
Not that he was going to do anything about it. Because while Phoenix might be physically attractive, his personality was loathsome. Maybe he was alive. Emmett hadn’t considered that. He should have stayed and talked, not flounced out.
The further Emmett walked, the more miserable he became. What was wrong with him? He was so lucky to be here. He’d missed being alive. He didn’t like Heaven and everyone was supposed to be happy there. He wished that when he’d died, everything had just stopped, that there hadn’t been another plane of existence. There should be nothing for people who didn’t believe. It didn’t seem fair on those who did. He swallowed hard waiting for a thunderbolt to strike him down, but it didn’t happen.
After hours wandering around with no clue what he was supposed to be looking for, he was back where he’d started outside the flat. The difference was that for the last few hundred yards, he’d been accompanied by a cat with a small white blaze between its eyes, surprisingly big ears, white legs and a beautiful black and silver-grey coat. He looked like a tiny monochrome tiger. Emmett had tried to shoo it away, but the cat wouldn’t leave him alone. It—well, he, stuck doggedly to his heels all the way back.
Did I have a cat? Is thismycat?Emmett’s heart suddenly seemed too large for his chest. What if thiswashis cat? Had no one taken care of him? He didn’t look skinny, he was big, but not remembering was awful. What the hell had he been thinking giving up his memories?
He managed to get inside the door downstairs and close it without the cat slipping in, but when Emmett turned and saw the cat sitting there, staring up at him with his big yellowy-green eyes, his steel heart cracked and he opened the door. The cat bounded up the stairs and sat waiting outside number 18 by the time Emmett reached it. That was more than weird. Maybe the cat had followed Emmett’s scent so he knew where he’d come from. There couldn’t be any other explanation.
When he opened the door, he smelt something cooking. He and the cat followed their noses. Emmett reeled when he saw the state of the kitchen. There were pots and pans everywhere, along with empty cans and onion peelings, and spatters of red on the walls. Hopefully not blood.
