Buy Me, Sir

We stare at each other in silence, blowing smoke out through the open window as the first hint of dawn bleeds onto the horizon.

And then we go to bed.Chapter Twenty-NineMelissaI’m on borrowed time, playing this crazy game with an even crazier prize at the end of it.

Double or bust.

I’m dancing with disaster with every lie I tell, digging myself deeper with every step I take.

Turning up at his house to meet Sonnie without my uniform on Thursday morning, bed-headed and bleary-eyed as she grilled me on who I’d spent my night with.

She told me she wouldn’t snitch to Janet Yorkley about my non-standard work attire, and I know she wouldn’t.

It pained me to shrug off her questions about my mystery man, made me feel queasy when we reached Mr Henley’s bedroom and found his bed still perfectly made from the day before.

How she’d grinned.

“Seems Mr Henley got himself lucky last night, too. I wonder who the lucky cow was.”

I could’ve told her and I know it.

I could have confessed it all and trusted her to keep my secrets.

But I didn’t.

Because as fucked up as it seems, I don’t want to betray him any more than I already have by telling someone else before him.

And so here I am, heading across to Brickwood with another working week completed. Ready to serve up soup and sandwiches and looking forward to my Saturday with Joe and Dean.

Maybe he won’t even be there. I don’t know for sure Alexander turns up here every week, but my question is answered the moment I step in through the door and find him already at work at their industrial hob, a dark cap pulled down over his forehead.

I’d recognise him a mile off, even in crappy denim.

It takes every scrap of nerves not to bail and run, but I couldn’t anyway. Frank is already heading in my direction, already calling out my name and telling me how pleased he is I could make it.

He wraps his arm around my shoulder as though we’re old friends, and leads me through the kitchen introducing me to strangers.

Annabel, Mary, Christine. All nice. All smiling. All welcoming and happy to have me here.

And then, finally, he introduces me to Ted.

Ted turns to face me so slowly, as though being social is nothing but a headache.

He holds out a hand before he’s even seen my face, and he tenses as I take it, his eyes shooting to mine in a heartbeat.

“Ted, this is Amy,” Frank says. “Amy, this is Ted.”

This was a mistake. I see it in his eyes.

They burn dark. His jaw fierce.

“Amy,” he says and I burn up so hot I feel faint.

“Ted,” I say and the word feels like glass in my throat.

Frank whisks me away to the vegetable station, and it’s all I can do to stare back over my shoulder as Alexander’s eyes eat me up.

“I’m sorry,” I mouth, but he looks away.AlexanderMy mind spins. Slurps around in a fucking mess as I stir the shit out of the soup pot.

I have no fucking idea why she’s here, so far away from her fucking house.

I hand the stirrer to Annabel and stalk Frank right out into the storeroom, and I’ve grabbed his arm before I can stop myself. His eyes widen as he spins to face me.

“Amy,” I say. “How do you know her? What’s she doing here?”

He looks so fucking shocked, his mouth flapping like I’m a fucking lunatic.

And I am.

I am a fucking lunatic.

“Eastspring,” he says. “She volunteers at Eastspring.”

“Eastspring?”

He nods. “Yeah, Eastspring. But she couldn’t make Wednesday night, said something came up. I suggested she come here instead.” He pauses. “You know her?”

I’m out of control.

My paranoia tumbles down as I realise what a fucking fuckup I am.

“We’ve crossed paths.”

He smiles. Poor sod has no fucking idea. “Ah yes, the volunteering circuit is a small place. She’s been a godsend at Eastspring, works like a trooper.”

It’s innocent.

Frank’s easy to read, an open book if ever there fucking was one.

A ridiculous coincidence, but one that has my heart racing.

“It’s nice of her to change venues,” I say.

“She’s a good one,” he tells me. “Sweet girl, very kind.”

“Yes,” I agree. “Very kind.”

He slaps my arm. “Maybe she’ll do both venues, we can hope, right?”

But she won’t be doing both venues, even if our anonymous donor has to cough up the cash for a paid member of staff in her stead.

Her Wednesday nights belong to me now, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

I feel like an asshole as I head back through to the kitchen. Amy looks terrified, staring over with scared eyes as I resume my station at the hob.

“I’m sorry,” she mouths again and I feel like such a cunt.

I shrug, and then I smile.

She breathes in relief and pretends to wipe her brow, and she’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful in her dress-down clothes. A pair of jeans and a t-shirt under a fitted jacket.