Page 88 of Read My Lips

A gap of silence hollowed in between us. I really didn’t think he wanted to at all.

“Um.” Simon frowned. For once in his life he didn’t have the perfectly diplomatic, problem-solving, genius-level response all cued up. “Not sure this’ll still be all over the internet by then.”

Ouch.

Sev leaned back into the depths of the sofa cushions, lowering the lid of her laptop and slumping down in slow motion, like she’d rather melt into the seat than stay wedged between us.

“You know, I think we should leave you two to it. Don’t you, Jo?”

“No, you’re alright.” I forced a laugh. We were nothing close to dating. Why should Simon want me at his sister’s wedding? “I need to head home anyway. Matt’s going to think I moved out when Cathy did at this rate. He’ll be fuming.”

My stomach rolled. All the rubbish I’d been feeding Simon about not wanting more than he wanted to give had come right to the surface now. What had I been thinking, showing Simon those photos? Every single one was prime stalker diaries. I’d been obsessed with the version of himself he brought to work. Slick and smooth and fashionable – everything I wasn’t. Everything I thought I wanted. I’d ballsed-up no strings sex before we even got into bed together. And now he knew I couldn’t be trusted.

Just like I knew there was so much more to him than any of my photos showed. Screw-up of a lifetime. Well done Ben Cooper.

Somehow I managed goodbyes to Sev and Jo, avoiding looking at Simon at all. Ignoring him was the least natural thing I’d ever done. One foot in front of the other, I paced back to the house, forcing myself not to run.

Simon caught up with me in the hall while I was lacing up my trainers.

“Ben, wait.”

“Look, no drama. I’ve gotta go home, is all. Haven’t been there in three days, so⁠—”

“Ok.” Simon stepped in front of me, ducking into my eyeline. Hands by his shoulders, he showed me his palms, watching me wairily. A creep like me might do something regrettable if he made any sudden movements. “Okay. Go home. We’ll regroup tomorrow.”

I nodded shortly. Somehow regrouping sounded like a threat. “Great flat. Thanks for… Everything.” After this, I’d never ever get to kiss him again. Holiday aborted. “Which way’s the bus stop?”

Simon wasn’t going to force me to stay and have it out. Simon didn’t force anyone to do anything. He didn’t even argue. I was the only shithead here. Even if I wanted him to rage at me.

The handle of my Bag for Life tangled on his swooping coat hook and I couldn’t get it off any more than I could deal with him saying my name again so horribly softly.

“Ben.” Simon squared in front of me, blocking the path to his front door. “Those pictures..?”

“Piss off Simon. I don’t want to talk about it.”

He frowned at me. I couldn’t believe how wrong I’d got it either, but there we were. He wasn’t ever supposed to know how obsessed with him I’d been. Everything was ruined now.

“You should know,” he said, and I braced myself for the weight of his judgement. “I love the tortoises. The tortoises have always been my favourite.”

All the air rushed out of my lungs in a startled laugh.

“Bullshit,” I signed, already stumbling across his hall towards the street. There was no way he was alright with any of this. I didn’t want to hear him pretending to be okay with my lies.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

I forced myself to speed-walk the first five bus stops home in penance.

Really, it was self-preservation. Waiting twelve and a half minutes, churning over how long it was going to take Simon to fire me for being a massive creep? Not a good idea.

What had I been thinking showing him those pictures? He’d told me he just did sex. We had done just sex. Epically. Coming face to face with me staring longingly at the side of his head at every work event for three years? Probably not the way he’d been hoping to round out the afternoon.

Right now we could be snapping half a dozen selfies to go with whatever we turfed up from the work photos, and hand-waving over anything earlier than last week. We’d only needed something showing us together. But no. I had to try to be helpful.

And why?

None of this held water under scrutiny. It barely stood up as reasonable. At some point, we’d get found out, and Mel Booker would cover her arse and fire Simon like she’d always been going to, and he’d never have to speak to me again.