My boss wasn’t brave.
And I never learned.
Yes, I checked the screen first, planning to ignore whichever idiot saw fit to disturb me but this guy signed my paycheque at the end of every month and it wasn’t like I had much of a social life anyway, the aforementioned friends choosing to communicate from a distance, so…
I shrugged and slid open the mobile as I turned the corner onto the street where we lived and—remembered the definition of ‘we’ was about to change. Possibly. I’d put the ad in the paper, being something of a computer whizz—read: nerd—handy with a credit card and submitting the text online. Gary, though, had dealt with all the phone calls and interviews and informal chats and vetting the prospective masochists who thought living with us would be a good idea. Something to do with me not scaring anyone off.
But he’d told me about the guy who made balloon-animals as a hobby and whose greatest achievement in life was lighting his own farts without toasting his balls.
Then there was the fruit-loop who’d refused to arrange a visit during daylight hours because His Satanic Majesty preferred his minions to be nightwalkers.
It was the bloke whose resume for the past three years was blank because he’d been a guest of Her Majesty who’d prompted Gary to tell me even I looked normal by comparison.
“Somebody sober with no criminal convictions would be nice,” he’d said, adding a pitiful groan. “And I’m not sure Simon would be too happy if we moved in someone who wanted to paint the windows in Ben’s room black. His room, I mean. Whoever. The new tenant.”
I’d stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around my chest, trying not to feel quite so smug, but Gary had met up with a platoon of nut-jobs after forbidding me from scaring off the normals so I went easy on myself. The smugforce was strong in this one.
“I almost wish you’d been around to see them off,” he muttered and the smugforce grew for all of one millisecond until I realised it was a bit of a backhanded compliment.
“Hey, wait a second. I’m just a normal—”
He snorted.
“—person who does his job, comes home and…”
“Yeah? What do you do, Kit? I mean, aside from watching Supernatural DVDs on your laptop when you claim you’re ‘working’.” He made air-quotes with his forefingers, the pretentious little twat.
“I like to break up my hours when I work from home by putting my feet up and—”
“Cracking one off to Jensen Ackles?”
“Pfft. Please. That’s just…you…I don’t…yeah, anyway, what I don’t do is try to recruit you into Beelzebub’s Dark Army, so be thankful for that at least.”
“I reckon you’ve set me up with all these weirdoes as revenge for banning you from the vetting process.”
“Now, would I do something like that?” I only wished I’d thought of it just to punish him. “And anyway, I don’t give a damn about the vetting process as long as it’s someone mostly human, not clinically insane, and who isn’t a complete knob.”
“The complete opposite of you, then?”
“I hope you end up signing someone who looks normal on the outside and turns out to be even worse than me. That’ll learn ya.”
“You’ll have to live with him too.”
“Sod that—I’ll just retreat to my room, watch some DVDs and wait to see the result of the last man standing bout downstairs. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just come on to him ‘til he freaks out and bolts. The next time around? I do the interviewing.”
“And what if he likes it when you make a pass?”
“I wouldn’t be so lucky as to end up living with a good-looking gay guy.”
“Okay, what if he’s gay and ugly?”
“Look, would you just stop it? You’re freaking me out now. Just get us an ugly straight guy, not clinically insane, no criminal record, IQ above his shoe size, not in league with the devil, preferably not given to lighting his own farts and making balloon animals and…” I shrugged. “We’re golden.”
“Right. And where the hell am I gonna find one of those in this town?”
“More fucking chance of that than finding a good-looking gay man,” I threw back.
So there I was on the way back from work, struggling to remember the prospective housemate’s name—Stuart or Simon Something—and resist the urge to growl at my boss down the phone.
“I know tomorrow’s your day off, but—”
I knew what was coming, and my footsteps slowed. I didn’t want to meet this new guy—well, it wasn’t that. I just didn’t care as long as he was sane and halfway normal. So, I didn’t care to meet him, and I wanted this shit with Bill dealt with as soon as possible.
“I’m gonna need you to flush out the bugs in the software and iron them out.”
“You want me to”—I frowned at his interesting mixed metaphors—”iron out the bugs?”
“Yeah, we need the beta software ready to show the client on Friday and—”
“Why can’t Scott do it? He’s—”
“He’s claiming some man-flu bullshit so you’re the only one left to deal with it.”
Besides you, you mean? I wanted to ask out loud. “I haven’t had a day off in ages.” I stopped walking, indignation nailing me to the same pavement square, and for once I thought of others, and lurked to one side of the path so I didn’t get in anyone’s way. “And you expect me to come in tomorrow?” Not that I’d had anything planned.
“I assumed you wouldn’t have much on anyway.”
Bastard. “You assumed wrong.” You’re a bastard and I’m a liar. Unless loafing around on the settee being a couch potato all day constitutes ‘plans’. “If I get another migraine because of all this crap…” And with such words, I more or less agreed. Or at least allowed myself to be steamrollered.
“As you’re coming in tomorrow—”
“I’m working from home.”
“—I’ll give you a day off in—what? If there’s any problem with the software I’ll need to know immediately.”
“That’s why God invented the telephone and email. I’m working from home.”
“Jesus, Kit.”
“Take it or leave it.” I probably sounded like I was trying to put the blackmail thumbscrews on him, but one of the advantages of being a selfish, anti-social, bad-tempered, insular little shit was I didn’t care. “Oh, and I want two days off in lieu.”
“Fuck.”
“I’m working from home as the office is too full of distractions for me to be able to concentrate.” Namely that fancy piece in accounting with the green eyes and narrow hips. “And I’m getting two days off in lieu because this is a bit last-minute. I’m just on my way home on the day before I was supposed to be getting a lie-in.”
“Fine, fine, two days off. It’ll take some re-jigging of the schedules but I’ll let you know what days are available.”
“I’ll let you know what days I’m taking off,” I said. I could tell him which I wouldn’t—whichever was moving day for the new guy.
Gary and I had enough cash to tide us over for a month or two, but we needed to find someone quickly. If today’s guy didn’t work out, we’d be reduced to taking in Ex-Convict Man and sleeping with knives under our pillows. Still, on the upside he could probably organise a bank job for extra cash. Being banged up if caught wouldn’t be so bad. I’d have a roof over my head and a pretty good chance of getting laid if I kept dropping the soap in the showers.
But, whoever moved in, he’d be doing so on his own, or with Gary. Moving one’s shit into the now-spare room wouldn’t take more than an hour or so. Clothes, books, bed linen—
what else would there be? The only other requirement was hospitality and I didn’t do hospitable. Let Gary make the tea or pour the beer. Moving day would be one day I was more than willing to put up with Bill bending my ear about some bullshit or another, while eyeing up the twink I was sure had been giving me the glad-eye.
Bill groaned. I grinned. I’d s
till have the day to myself at home even if I did have to work, and I was getting two other days off instead. Not so unprofitable a phone call after all.
“I’ll come in at the end of the working day to let you know what I’ve come up with. If there are any problems I’ll call to let you know.”
“Fine.”
Gotcha. “I’ll need you to email me the details of what the problem is. I’ll run a diagnostic in the morning and set about trying to flush the bugs out.”
“Yeah, do that then. Bye.”
I stared at the dead phone for a second before sliding it shut and jamming it into my jacket pocket. “You’re welcome. Right.” Hitching my laptop bag on my shoulder, I started walking. One day off lost—if another two gained—one complete stranger to go make nice with. How much worse could the day get?
I kicked the front door shut behind me with a click less terminal than I’d like.
Ordinarily it made me think, “Home again, home again, clickety click,” but not this time. Not when I had work to do.
“Kit, there you are.” Gary hovered in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed like a nagging housewife. All he needed was his hair in rollers and to brandish a rolling pin.
“You say that like I’m late.”
“You are.”
“Hmm.” I cocked my head. “Oh well. Got a call from Bill, he wanted me to go in tomorrow but I told him to get fucked and…is the…” I peeked round the living room doorway. An empty room with nothing out of place.
“Steven? He’s in the kitchen. We were just having coffee before I give him the tour. You want to come meet him?” Gary thumbed over his shoulder and I resisted the urge to screw up my eyes and get a closer look at the shadowy form lurking just out of sight, partially masked by the door.
“No, I thought you were dealing with all that crap anyway? I meant the modem and router. They’re still switched on, I take it?”
“Yeah, I was on my laptop earlier to send emails to… Look, you should probably come meet…”
“Are you kidding? I’ve just had my day off pulled from under me and Bill’s emailing me some shit he needs sorting out. I want to get as much as possible done tonight so I can still spend some of tomorrow with my feet up.” Consciously dropping my voice, I eyed the kitchen behind Gary and beckoned with a discreet nod of my head. He came closer. “You can deal with him, can’t you? You always said I scare people off and if he’s sober and solvent and employed, then fine. Just sign him up. I’m not bothered, as long as he’s not gonna slaughter us in our beds.”
“Yeah, but you should meet him. He actually seems halfway normal.”
“No balloon animals?”
Gary shook his head.
“Is he one of the undead? A serial killer? He doesn’t believe he’s Napoleon or collect belly button fluff in coffee jars? Talk to the voices in his head?”
“What are you smoking? God, no, he—”
“Good, then just sign him, then, before he takes his wallet elsewhere.”
“You are such a mercenary bastard, Blackman, you know that?”
Backing up the stairs, holding my palms open in feigned innocence, I smiled. “I have a swinging brick where my heart used to be, Lacey. Now, go on. Shoo. Shoo. You have a housemate to go sign.”
From the tone of his voice—low, growled—I guessed he was swearing at me, but my laughter blocked out any specific words. Four-letter ones, knowing him. Most of them learned from me given that Christopher Blackman was King of the Potty Mouths.
I booted up the laptop before I’d even got my jacket off then kicked off my shoes and pulled my T-shirt over my head. Lax though the dress code was at work—ironed jeans were considered making an effort—I couldn’t wait to get my ‘work gear’ off. A shower would have been cool—well, boiling hot was my preference—but it’d have to wait. Bill’s email would come through any second and I wanted to check exactly what the problem was. I hoped he was getting his panties in a bunch over nothing, but one never knew…
I was a couple of hundred words into my well-crafted reply, a thinly-veiled bullshit translation of “Bitch, please, are you a complete techno-tard?” when I heard footsteps on the stairs and laughter.
Good sign. The tour continues, and they sound like they’re getting on.
Then one of them had to go and spoil it all by knocking on my door.
“I’m working.”
“Come on, Kit, stop being such an anti-social bastard and come to meet Steven.”
“I told you, I’m—”
“I’ve got tea.”
I jumped off the bed and threw the door open. “Why didn’t you say—” For a moment the presence of two men surprised me, as if Steven being there had deleted all mental preparation I’d done to accept a stranger being in my home. He blinked and frowned and I wondered if a shirtless blond with a really bad temper was so unusual that he had to keep staring like that. “Thanks. Shame it isn’t beer, though.” I lifted the mug out of Gary’s hand, telling myself it was the heat making mine shake, and moved to tap the door shut with my foot.
“Wait.” Gary put his hand out. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“I said thanks.”
“Steven.”
“What, did he make the tea? You’ll settle in here, then. Milk, no sugar for me. Have a nice day. Bye—”
“Will you stop doing that?” Gary didn’t even give Steven a chance to speak and I wasn’t even sure the guy would be all that articulate, if his fascination with my only jewellery—a silver cross—was anything to go by. Then again, I did wear it on a chain of exactly the right length to rest between my pecs. Sad and lonely and bad-tempered I may have been, but vanity was pretty high on my list of sins too.
“What? Doing what?”
“Being rude.”
“I wasn’t, was I?” I stared Steven out, willed him to look me in the eyes and cocked my head. Wished the tea was something a bit stronger than even beer. Christ, I need a stiff one.
And I ended up choking on the damn tea.
“Hey. I’m Steven Kenton.” He held out his hand. I guessed I was supposed to shake it or something. Then I wondered what his hand would be like wrapped around my—
“Fuck.”
“What?” Gary frowned. “Something wrong?”
“Tea. Hot.” I cleared my throat. “Nice meeting you, Steven.” I backed off a step but neither of them made a move to shove off.
“Gary’s just been telling me about the spare room.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not this one. You’ll find it just across the hall, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to—”
“Where are the other six?”
“Sorry, what?” The little bastard had interrupted me. Okay, not so little. My height. Bit more slender. Curly black hair I reckoned would look fucking sensational wrapped around my fingers and, oh God, I really needed a date with someone other than Mrs Palmer and her five lovely daughters.
Still, having a housemate that good-looking meant I’d be getting a lot more exercise in the coming— literally—weeks.
Use your left too, Blackman, balance out the muscle definition in your biceps.
“You know. Doc, Happy, Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy and Dopey.”
“What?” I thought for a moment, went through the list in my head. My mind wandered away from his thick black brows and my speculations on how they’d look knitting together in a frown right before he— “Wait a minute, did you just call me…? You cheeky bastard.”
He burst out laughing, Gary restraining himself to a quiet snigger. Steven’s eyes crinkled up at the corners when he laughed and I hated noticing how gorgeous his mouth was when he smiled. It made me want to stick my cock in it. That’d soon shut up the cheeky fucker.
“Look, I’ve got work to do, so go have a look round the house. If you like it, fine. Sign the lease. I’m more—”
“Don’t you want to check me out?” Steven asked.
I already am. “I beg your pardon?”
�
�I mean, you don’t know who I am, or anything important, do you?”
“Hasn’t Gary already talked to you about this?”
“Yeah, but both of you guys have to agree, right? I could be a serial killer moving into your house.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Got a good job? Money to pay the rent?”
“Yeah.”
“Criminal record?”
“Does Wham’s Greatest Hits count?”
I blinked. Please, God, let him be gay. No, let him be straight. Then I won’t spend my nights fantasising about what he’s like in bed. Top, I’d put my shirt on it. If I was wearing one.
“As long as you don’t play it too loud when I’m trying to sleep.”
“Or work?” he shot back. “Important job, is it?”
“He’s a computer nerd,” Gary said.
“Programmer.”
“Which means he’s responsible for all the gadgets lying around the house. His dominion. It makes him feel important.”
“You write games, then?”
“I test them sometimes. Mostly it’s boring accounts software and shit like that.” I scowled. Back to being Grumpy, the missing seventh again. “Speaking of which…?”
“Oh. Right.” Steven took a step back, thank God. His proximity wasn’t doing much for my blood pressure and I just hoped the imminent boner wouldn’t show itself until the door was closed and I had my cock in one hand and a bunch of Kleenex in the other.
“Right, thank you for that, Mr Interested. I’ll go give Steven the tour, then, shall I?”
“You do that. Thanks for the tea.” I winked at Gary. “Bring a biscuit next time, though, eh? Bye.” I shut the door, but slowly, and not before noticing the quick down-up sweep of Steven’s eyes.
Their voices faded as they crossed the hall, and I leaned my forehead against the back of my door, clutching the tea mug like it was a lifeline.
Man, I am so fucking screwed.
Chapter Three
“Are we gonna have a housewarming party then, or what?” Steven reached over his head and held onto the settee back with one hand, the other resting in his lap. And I definitely didn't look.
Stay the Night Page 2