Although it’s hard to simply be when Niall brushes past me. The second time he does it, I wonder if it’s on purpose. He’s very good at being surreptitious. By the time I think to comment, he’s on the other side of the room, and I’m opening and closing my mouth like a demented fish.
The feelings I have for him are confusing. A mixture of nostalgia and desire, maybe, but there’s something more, too. An ache to be with him, to know what he thinks on every subject. I want to get to know him all over again.
I want him to know me. The real me. The one I’ve been trying to suppress ever since Digby’s death. The one I thought I’d left behind. It turns out she was here all along, waiting for me to find her for real.
And I think I like her.
“We done?”
Niall smiles at me. There’s a smudge of black paint along his jawline and without thinking I reach out to wipe it. Like a reflex response, his hand circles my wrist, keeping my fingers resting on his jaw.
Neither of us breathes.
“You have paint,” I finally say. “On your face. Black paint.” Am I making sense? I’m not even sure.
He unclenches his fingers from my wrist and moves his hand up to cover mine. “Have I?” Not once does he move his eyes away from me.
My palm presses harder on his rough skin. His beard is starting to emerge. It’s scratchy, but somehow I like the way it feels. As I stand there, my thoughts drift back to that night in his flat, remembering how his jaw felt against my neck, my chest, my cheek. It burned in such a sensual way.
Reluctantly, I pull my hand away and let it rest on my hip. “I guess it’s time to go back to my glamorous bedsit.”
“Are you liking it there?” Though his voice is even, his eyes are still dilated. I like the way I affect
him.
“It was a bit weird at first, getting used to just living in one room. It’s nice to have somewhere I can call mine, though.”
“What do you do in the evening? Do you share the cooking with your housemates?”
I laugh, thinking of the takeaway cartons scattered around our tiny kitchen. “No, I hardly see them to be honest. I think they prefer kebabs to nouvelle cuisine.”
“You don’t sit and watch telly with them?”
“We don’t have a living room.” It was strange at first, realising there was no communal space. I guess the landlord wanted to squeeze every penny he could out of his real estate. What used to be the living room is now a third bedroom. “The only time I see them is when I’m making a cup of tea. It isn’t so bad.”
His nose screws up. “What does Simon think? Won’t he pay for something better for you?”
“I don’t want him to. It isn’t his choice I moved out. I don’t want to look as if I’m sponging off him.”
It would feel so wrong. Everything Simon has, he owned before we got married. Even at our lowest, the last thing I thought about was taking him for all he had. It’s his money, not mine. I’d like it to stay that way.
“It seems unfair that he has everything and you’re living in a dingy room. You know the offer of my spare room still stands.”
It would be so easy, moving into his place, drifting into a relationship; maybe never leaving, but if Niall and I are ever going to be together it won’t be by default. This time I want any relationship to be on an equal footing.
“It’s fine. Just somewhere to stay while I work everything out. They don’t make too much noise, don’t have crazy parties. They just keep to themselves.”
Diane and Peter. It even took me a few days to remember their names. These are people I’m sharing a bathroom with.
“Well, any time you need to escape, you know where I am.” He doesn’t say any more, just walks over and grabs his jacket from a hook at the back of the room. “Do you want a lift home?”
I try not to laugh. My flat’s in completely the opposite direction of his place and he knows it. I’m about to refuse when an idea pops into my head. “Actually, do you have enough time to take a detour? I just want to check on something.”
* * *
His car still stinks like a tepid pond. It doesn’t appear to have been cleaned since I was last in it, and I find myself kicking an empty water bottle, wondering if it’s been in the foot well all this time. He climbs in on the driver’s side and stretches his long legs out to press the clutch down, and I try not to watch as his thigh muscles push against his jeans.
“So, where are we going?”