“You can talk,” he murmured, scratching him gently behind the ears. “You were all over him like a rash.”
With a flick of his tail, like a feline “fuck you,” Monty stood and walked back over to his bed without so much as a backwards glance.
Oliver let out a quiet chuckle.
Yeah. That told me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The week seemed to be dragging by.
For whatever reason, Ed had been inundated with work, more than he usually had, but he didn’t want to turn down the extra money—it was going to take a few months before he got established in a new place. As a result, fixing Oliver’s laptop had taken a backseat, and he’d only got around to ordering the parts that afternoon.
He tapped his pen on the edge of the desk, thoughts drifting back to the weekend and those damn ripped jeans. He’d done his best not to snatch a glance every time Oliver bent over, but Christ it’d been hard. Pun intended. With a sigh he swallowed the urge to indulge in the fantasy of slowly peeling them off him and tried to get back to the task at hand.
Tried and failed.
His sex life had been practically non-existent since his split with Tom, content to busy himself with work and the idea of moving his life somewhere else. Starting again. In truth, the breakup had not only hurt his heart, but knocked his confidence too. They’d both said some none-too-pleasant things to each other at the end—most of which Ed knew neither of them meant—but some stuck with him, and whether Tom had meant them or not, Ed found it hard to shake them off.
Especially when the world outside was starting to prepare for Christmas while he spent his time alone and hadn’t spoken to anyone in person for a couple of days.
Working from home came with benefits and disadvantages. Lack of human contact being one of the worst things about it.
Needing to get out of the house for a few minutes, Ed stood and grabbed his keys. Oliver wouldn’t be home for another hour or two at least, but Betty would be. Now was as good a time as ever to take her up on her open offer of tea and a chat.
He walked over to Betty’s front door, knocked, and waited. A minute later he was joined by a ginger cat, one of Betty’s, he presumed, but the name escaped him; she had so many of them. It sat next to him, patiently waiting for Betty to answer.
As he raised his hand to knock again, the door swung open, and a harried looking Betty appeared. “Oh good,” she said, ushering him inside. The cat skipped past him, almost tripping him up, and Ed bit back a curse. “You can help me look.”
He followed her into the kitchen.
“I know I had it the other day,” she muttered. “I just can’t seem to remember where I put it. Damn memory...”
“What are we—”
“Maybe it’s in Oliver’s bedroom.” She disappeared into the hall again before Ed could finish his question.
He caught up to her hovering in the doorway to what Ed presumed was Oliver’s room, wringing her hands.
She glanced back at him over her shoulder, eyebrows scrunched together in a frown. “I don’t like to go in when he’s not here, but...”
Ed smiled in the hope of putting her at ease. But she seemed as anxious as when she’d first opened the door. A different Betty than he’d met last time. A weekend conversation with Oliver danced to the surface, and Ed sighed. Keeping his voice low and soft, he said. “Betty? What is it that we’re looking for?”
“Hmm?” She was still frowning when she turned to look at him. “Oliver’s laptop. I watchPeaky Blinderson it.” Ed’s eyebrows rose, but Betty’s obvious distress kept his amusement at bay. “It’s usually on the living room coffee table or in the kitchen, but...” She put her hand to her mouth. And when Ed noticed her eyes glistening, he stepped forward and gently squeezed her arm.
“Betty?” When she focused on him, he said, “Oliver’s laptop is with me, remember? Oliver brought it round at the weekend.”
“No, I had it yesterday, I’m sure I did...Didn’t I?” A moment or two passed, then recognition sparked in her eyes, and she sighed. “Because of the laptop screen.”
Ed nodded. “That’s right.”
She let out a long sigh. “Oh, bloody hell!”
A chuckle escaped him at her look of indignation combined with her cursing. “Sorry,” he quickly added, contrite.
Betty shot him a wry look. “No need for you to be apologising. I’m the one who just led us on a wild goose chase around the bungalow.” Putting her hand on top of his, she gave it a squeeze. “My memory gets worse. I’m going to ask Oliver to start leaving me notes of what’s what for when I inevitably forget.” She shook her head, thankfully more annoyed now than upset. “At least I’ve not lost his laptop, though.”
“Silver linings?” Ed offered.
