Stay the Night

by Scarlett Parrish

  “And me?” I frowned. “Was I an afterthought?”

  “Nah.” Tiff giggled. “You’re the guest star. The main attraction. The whole point to— Anyway. Have you met Isaac?”

  “I’m sorry, what?” Her flitting from one subject to another too fast for me to keep up made my head spin. This evening was confusing me already and it hadn’t even begun.

  “Isaac?”

  “Yeah. Isaac.”

  He companion gave a smile, said nothing, let Tiff do the talking.

  “His real name’s Isaac Beckett but I call him Isaac Cox.”

  “You…? Why…?”

  “Say it slowly, and think about it.” Isaac shook his head. “Her idea of a joke.”

  “It’s both a name and a job description.” Tiff raised her glass once more, before draining it in a couple of gulps. “Go get me another, there’s a good lad.”

  “Don’t we need to stay out here?”

  “What’s more important? Me getting drunk enough to fit both of you in later, or blocking the stairwell? Besides, I’m enough. If he”—at this, she nodded at me—”tries to get away, I’ll start screaming or throw myself down the stairs.”

  “Again?” Isaac sat up straight, shaking his head in obvious amazement.

  “All right, wait a minute.” Ice water zipped up and down my spine and I barely resisted the urge to shiver at the slow realisation of what was going on.

  “Um, Kit? Maybe we should go inside now,” Gemma began, but I shrugged off the hand on my shoulder, glared at Tiff.

  “Do you make a habit of throwing yourself down the stairs?”

  “Only when completely necessary. But, you know, tonight’s set-up might well be worth a suicide mission, so…”

  “Set-up?”

  “Oops, did I say set-up? I meant party! There’s nursery sandwiches in the kitchen, crusts cut off. Cucumber. Salmon. Even that godawful crab paste shite St—”

  “We really need to go in now, mate,” Gary said. “It’s getting cold out here, right? Brr. Chilly. Need a drink? Sure there’s plenty of beer in there, right, Tiff?”

  “Wait.” I pointed at Tiff. “You’re Tiffany?”

  “That’s me.” She grinned, raised her glass, saw it was empty, and the grin fell away.

  “Bugger. Oh well, anyway, yeah. I’m Tiffany.”

  “That’s Isaac.”

  “Jesus, this guy’s catching on quick, isn’t he?” Isaac muttered, shaking his head slowly.

  “Yes, that’s Isaac,” Tiffany confirmed. “And this is my housewarming party. Welcome to my humble abode. We’ve only lived there for a few weeks, but now we’ve got it all decorated, we’re ready for visitors, so…”

  “We? As in you’re the girl with two boyfriends, right? Jason and this guy.”

  “Isaac Cox, both a name and a job description.”

  “Tiff, Tiff, you’ve already told that joke,” Isaac said.

  “Have I really?”

  “Yes, you—”

  “Are you sure? I could have sworn—”

  “Yes, and the ‘had me at merlot’ pun. Every. Fucking. Time.” Isaac rolled his eyes. “The drunker she gets, the worse her jokes. You guys go ahead, help yourself to a drink. There’s plenty in the kitchen—”

  “And sammiches!” Tiff shouted, completely mispronouncing the word in her drunken state and not caring one bit, I guessed. “Don’t forget the nursery sammiches. Took fucking ages doing them, I did. Cutting the crusts off. They make your hair go curly if you eat them, you know.”

  “Sammiches?” I echoed. “I mean, sandwiches?”

  “No, bread crusts. Didn’t your grandmother ever tell you? Eat your crusts, they’ll make your hair curl? I hate curly hair. ‘Course, someone in the family got the curly genes, and me? I got the hair straighteners. Never leave home without them. Luckily, this is my home, so—”

  “Yeah, this is your flat? You live here?”

  “We do, yeah.”

  “You and Isaac? And Jason, wasn’t it?”

  “No, them? God no.” Tiff grimaced. “They’re my harem, but I couldn’t stand to live with either of them.”

  “More like we couldn’t stand to live with you,” Isaac put in.

  “You shut it, or I won’t let you on backdoor duty again.”

  “Ugh. Oh God. Too much information.” Behind me, Gemma groaned. “I don’t even want to think about…”

  “More’s the pity,” Gary murmured.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” I shrugged. “It’s not so bad if you go slowly and use lots of… Anyway, look. Tiff? So you said ‘we’ lived here. If it’s not Jason or Isaac, then…” Fuck, fuck, fuck, please tell me I’m wrong. No, let me be right. No, I’ve never wanted to be wrong so much in my life.

  “Ah.” Tiff cleared her throat and for what I guessed was the first time in a long time, looked sheepish. She barely met my eyes as she spoke. “Yeah. I kinda live with my brother. I believe you two are acquainted?”

  “Fuck.”

  “I believe such an activity occurred between you, yes. Um, could I interest you in a—”

  “Steven?” Somehow I managed to choke out the word, feeling relieved and terrified and so. Fucking. Gullible. “Steven lives here?”

  “Yes.” A sixth voice to add to the conversation appeared behind me and I turned on the stairs to look up at him, standing in the flat’s doorway. No frown, and no smile either. I couldn’t tell if he was majorly pissed off at my being anywhere in the vicinity or not.

  “Apparently I do.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Oh shit,” Isaac muttered. “Come on, Tiff, time for us to go.”

  “I’m on guard duty. He’s not supposed to—”

  “Whatever, come on.” He clambered to his feet, dragging Tiffany with him. She’d obviously had a few and allowed herself to be dragged.

  The only thing that kept me rooted to the spot as opposed to fleeing down the stairs was the look on Steven’s face. The non-look, free of expression or any hint as to what he was feeling.

  “Gemma, maybe we should…” Gary reached for Gemma’s hand and pulled.

  “No, no, I want to listen to this. Kit’s gonna get his come-up—”

  “Now.”

  Even I jumped. I didn’t think I’d ever witnessed Gary answering her back or dishing out orders quite so vehemently.

  “Right, right.” She, like Tiffany, allowed herself to be pulled away into the flat, though she was far steadier on her feet. Tiffany had been drunkenly amiable, Gemma curious but sober and discreet.

  Steven? Oh, Steven leaned against the guard rail at the top of the stairs, glowering like he hated me. I couldn’t blame him.

  Didn’t mean I had to like it, though.

  I gripped the banister, not knowing whether it was to stop myself falling backwards down the stairwell, or throwing myself on his mercies.

  Throwing myself over the banister was, of course, an option, and becoming ever more attractive by the second. Less idiotic than merely falling, and less humiliating than asking him to forgive me and being shunned.

  “So.” He lifted one eyebrow, arching it in such a perfectly-executed gesture of disdain I would have winced, were I not so admiring.

  Admiration culled by the realisation he was literally looking down on me. Only by one or two steps, though.

  “I was set up,” I blurted out.

  The raised eyebrow stayed just so.

  “I didn’t know this was your place. Gary and Gemma invited me out. I mean, they kinda forced me.”

  Steven crossed his arms. Uh-oh. Not good. Very confrontational. Or closed-off at least.

  “If I’d known I never would have…” Oh shit, no. Exactly the wrong thing to say.

  “Right.” Unfolding his arms, Steven craned his neck, looking up to the ceiling as if searching for divine inspiration. I concluded he got no answer because all he did was rest his hands on his hips and glare at me, muttering “That’s quite something. I appreciate—”

 
; “Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—”

  “No? Do you mean to tell me if you’d known I lived here now, you would have been okay with attending? Or is it closer to the truth you would have run as fast as you could in the opposite direction?”

  “Well, no, I…” I couldn’t think of what the fuck to say, nor let my gaze settle on anything. Looking at Steven hurt, and looking anywhere else gave the impression of cowardice. Which probably would have been an accurate description, but I didn’t want to give him outright confirmation of what a fucking wuss I was. “I didn’t think…”

  “No, please.” He held up a silencing hand—not with flattened palm like a traffic cop holding back the tide, but more like a repulsed onlooker who couldn’t believe the car crash he’d been forced to witness. He even turned his head slightly, like a man just as keen as me to bolt, but with more self-restraint and social graces. Wanting to turn his back but not wanting it to be obvious. “You don’t have to make excuses, Kit. I get it. You were tricked into coming here, and now you are, I’m guessing you’d really rather not be, yeah?”

  I expected him to turn away at that, head indoors leaving my ears ringing with the echo of a slamming door, but he paused. Waited. For what, I didn’t know.

  Then I realised. He wanted a reaction. A reply. For me to give him something. And I was clueless. Lost.

  I did what I always did. Backed off.

  I let one foot lower itself onto the step below; keeping my gaze fixed on Steven—for once—meant I caught the grimace, the twist to his lips that didn’t have to say out loud, I expected as much.

  And I waited for him to speak but he pushed his weight off the guardrail and turned to head for the front door.

  Ugh. Kit. You fucking idiot. “Wait.”

  He stopped in his tracks, but not for long. More of a flinch, a blip in his stride which he then continued.

  I bit my lip and gripped the banister even harder, as if it were a lifeline and I shot an angry glance at my own hand. More like a fucking millstone. “Steven. Fucking wait. “ I reached the top of the flight of stairs without knowing how I’d got there, but knew it was the right place for me to be. “Okay, that’s…” I stopped the door with one thrust-out hand, imagining that Steven had enough pent-up energy in the arm which curved around the door’s edge to slam it back in my face.

  But I’d misjudged—yet again—and managed to push the door so hard it bounced back from its hinges’ limits and nearly hit Steven in the shoulder as he spun round to face me.

  “Look, I know you don’t want me here, but…”

  “But?” His lips thinned and his eyes flicked left, right, up, down, anywhere but at my face. I hated seeing that mouth so unforgiving and angry. It was made to smile. Right before I shoved my cock in it.

  “Well?”

  I shook myself out of it. Now is not the time to think like that, Kit. “I am here, so…” I shrugged. “And…”

  “I thought you’d want to leave?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Oh.” His shoulders sank. “Look, just…” One hand reached for the door again and the other gestured in midair, a half-hearted, couldn’t-care-less dismissal. Be gone, it said, with silent disdain.

  “No.”

  Steven flinched, as if unsure of what he’d heard. “What?”

  “I said no.” And I stepped inside the house, easily closing the door behind me because he, in his what the fuck are you doing state, didn’t—couldn’t?—fight back.

  “Hey, what the—would you get the fuck out of my house?”

  Music drifted out from the living room and down the hall, but I couldn’t name the tune.

  Partygoers switched between rooms, none of them paying us much mind. They were probably too drunk, or too into their own weekend state of mind to bother with two guys standing by the front door, one glaring at the other, his expression written all over with annoyance.

  “I’m staying.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Until you listen to me. Then I’ll…” I looked up, just like Steven had earlier, seeking that divine inspiration which had eluded him. “Then I’ll leave.” And I looked down again, and I saw Steven, and I didn’t want to leave.

  “You have something to say, do you?”

  “Um…” I rolled my shoulders, one after the other, before muttering, “Shit, I really hadn’t planned any of this.”

  “No, I got that impression when you let me know you’d been tricked into coming here.”

  “I didn’t think you’d want me here.”

  “And you clearly don’t want to be—”

  “Why are you?”

  “—because you—what? Why am I here?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded, and gulped back the huge knot of nerves threatening to close my throat completely. “Imagine I’m an idiot.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “And explain it to me like I’m stupid.”

  Steven lifted his damn eyebrow again and, Jesus fucking Christ, I wanted to kiss him.

  “I mean, why did you…” I glanced up the hallway as the foot traffic between the front room and others became a little too invasive when it came to our little confrontational bubble. “Why did you move out?”

  “At the risk of sounding like the kind of whiner I don’t want to be…” Steven crossed his arms and leaned a little, just a little, closer. Made the conversation conspiratorial. He still hated me, or the way I’d treated him, but this thing was a little less ‘you and me’, a little more ‘us’. “I’m more than a little surprised you even noticed I’d gone.”

  “You left when I was—” Again, we were disturbed—or I was—by people, people, bloody people. They paid us hardly any attention but I was so fucking jumpy I couldn’t let myself rest. I didn’t want to do this with people looking on, possibly listening or hearing at least, eavesdropping on something that should remain private and—

  “At work?” Steven had never sneered at me but he came very close to it then. “I wanted to make it clean. Kit, we’d been avoiding each other for days. I was just drawing a line under something that was already gone.”

  Don’t say that, don’t say that, please don’t say that.

  His jaw clenched as he stood back again, leaning against the opposite wall. But he hadn’t told me again to get the fuck out of his house, so I was good. For the moment. “But you…”

  “You’re not very good at finishing sentences are you?”

  “But you never even said anything.”

  A sharp bark of laughter which stabbed me, though it hardly made a dent in the noise and chatter coming from the living room. “I left you a note.”

  “Yeah. The note.” I’d read it more times than I cared to acknowledge and I’d even fucking kept it, in a drawer in my room. “Nice touch.”

  “I think it said everything about why I left.”

  “You think…” Another pause, and I didn’t want to leave this sentence unfinished. Hell, I didn’t want to leave the conversation unfinished. The only way out is through, Blackman. “You think I ran away?”

  “Ran away, pushed me away, what’s the difference? Kit.” He eased his weight off the wall and I wondered if he was about to show me to the door. “Everything you said was all well and good, but everything you did pretty much insulted me. I mean, I know you’re out, so that’s not the problem, but…” He bit his lip, drawing my attention to his mouth, something that was so easy to do with lips like those, and our eyes met. He’d noticed me noticing. “I told you I wouldn’t let you turn your back on me again. But you did.”

  I couldn’t say anything to that. I wanted to cross my arms, or wrap them around myself, but I’d had enough of closing myself off. It still didn’t stop me wanting to turn tail and run away home, though. Just like always. And for so long I hadn’t been able to run away from Steven because he lived at the same address and even home wasn’t safe from the threat of—

  “Fuck.” My heart thudded, hurting my ribcag
e. “Fuck, I’ve really messed up.”

  This time when his eyes widened it was in genuine shock, I could tell. “That’s probably the most honest thing you’ve ever said.”

  “Yeah, well, I did, and I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Not badly enough to do anything about it, though.”

  “I’m here now.”

  “Under duress. You were tricked into it.”

  “And I stayed, even when you told me to get the fuck—” I stopped when yet another partygoer, reveller, drunkard, interloper, whatever, hovered in the living room doorway and staggered to what I could just see from this angle was the kitchen. A steady hum of voices drifted out of that room, punctuated by the clink of bottles and glasses. All the cool people gathered in the kitchen at parties. There was some law about it, or unwritten rule. “I stayed, when you told me to leave.”

  “Now you know what it feels like.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Steven rolled his shoulders, not shrugging exactly, more working out a kink. “You’re still here.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of the accusation, whether he expected me to reply or vacate the premises, and he said nothing further to enlighten me. Right. Okay. I bit my lip. Come on, Blackman. Make a move.

  “Jesus,” Steven muttered, shaking his head and looking down at the laminate flooring.

  Whether it was that, or my hearing becoming extra sensitive in his presence, the tap-tap-tap of his impatient foot was louder than usual. “You’re such a fucking pussy about this.”

  “Oh, shut up. I’m trying to—”

  “Let me get this straight. You refuse to leave my home, then you tell me to shut—”

  “Look, will you just—”

  “Make me.”

  “What?”

  “If you want me to shut the fuck up in my own home, then you’re welcome to try and make—”

  He ended up against the wall again and I must have had something to do with it because my hands were gripping his upper arms, the short sleeves of his T-shirt hiding where I knew the tattoos to be. The abrupt cessation of his mocking laughter deafened me; he was shocked, and I was worried.

  “Did I…” I gulped, deciding that ‘trying again’ wasn’t good enough—I had to finish my sentences or Steven would just take the piss again and I’d never get my point across. “Did I hurt you?”