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‘I suppose. Although I would have expected you to figure I was better off,’ he pointed out. ‘Seeing what a hard time you give Aldo.’
Her face flushed a dull red.
He liked that she had no make-up on. She usually wore a lot of gunk around her eyes. She looked better without it. Not that he usually had an opinion on what women wore on their faces. He liked lipstick as much as the next guy. But without the gunk she seemed less remote, more real. And he could see her eyes more, that cornflower blue bold and expressive—as if he were getting a precious glimpse of the real Lizzie behind the hipster mask.
Emotion flittered across her face, easy to read. First embarrassment, then guilt, then the hint of defensiveness. He found all three captivating in their own way. Especially when she held back the snarky comment she probably wanted to say and smiled instead.
Lizzie had a very cute smile when it wasn’t ironic.
‘Sorry, but those who don’t have annoying little brothers,’ she said lightly, ‘don’t get to pass judgement on those who do.’
He chuckled. All the melancholy thoughts of his mother, and the upcoming duty visit to the hospice, neatly dispelled.
‘What about those who always wanted a little brother,’ he countered, ‘and think those who have one ought to appreciate them more?’
‘Excuse me, but wanting one and having one are two very different conditions.’ She propped one hand on her hip and placed the other on the countertop, her stance combative, and flirtatious. Sweat had gathered in her cleavage, making the skin glisten, spotlighting the small, firm breasts beneath her jogging bra. He dragged his gaze back to her face, with an effort.
‘But I give you major points for wanting a little brother like Aldo,’ she said. ‘After seeing his dark side.’
‘His dark side’s not so bad. Yours, on the other hand …’
He let the playful insinuation hang in the air. Knowing he shouldn’t flirt back with her. He’d been avoiding her all week for this very reason. Flirtation wasn’t cool. She was eighteen and fragile beneath all the bravado and bitchiness, according to her mum. And he was twenty-one and in her mum’s employ. He’d been careful to keep his distance from day one in this job, but after what had happened at the Serps, he’d been extra careful, realising that friendly Lizzie could be a lot more dangerous than arsey Lizzie.
But today, after all the stress of what was going on with his mum, the chance to think about something else and enjoy some, OK, mild flirting didn’t seem like such a major crime. And while Lizzie’s mum thought she was fragile, she didn’t seem particularly fragile to him. She certainly wasn’t naive, or romantic. If her arsehole boyfriend had taught her one thing, it was to be smart around guys, and not get too invested. And it was a lesson she’d obviously learned with interest if the ballsy way she’d handled that prick in the park was anything to go by.
Luckily, he’d learned the exact same thing when he was seventeen and lost his virginity with one of the neighbours. Jenny had been a nice lady, divorced with a young kid and lonely. And the sex had been amazing, at least for him. He wasn’t so sure it had been that great for her in retrospect, because he’d had the staying power of a tsetse fly and couldn’t locate a clitoris without a lot of fumbling. But she’d been sweet enough not to complain.
His mum had totally freaked when she’d found out, so Jenny had moved away. And he’d been crushed. The loneliness enveloping him. He figured out eventually that he hadn’t been in love with Jenny. He’d just needed the chance to escape every Saturday afternoon while her little boy was with his dad. But it had taken him months to get over the misery whenever he’d walked into the house and saw the new people living next door. If there was one thing a kid whose mum had primary progressive MS should have known, it was that nothing stayed the same, and you couldn’t rely on anyone.
But for a while he’d relied on Jenny. And he shouldn’t have.
Ever since, he’d steered clear of romantic relationships. He already had enough shit to deal with, without asking for more. Once his mum was gone, he’d think about dating, but until then, he didn’t need the hassle.
So there was no way he would ever go too far with Lizzie. Which meant it was daft to get paranoid about enjoying her company. Or some extracu
rricular flirting. If it made them both feel good, and he was well aware of the limitations, where was the harm?
‘How can you possibly judge how dark my dark side is,’ she replied, her breasts doing that perky thing again as she leaned into his personal space, ‘when you’ve never had an older sister? I can tell you categorically it’s perfectly normal to bitch at your little brother. Even my therapist said so.’ The colour in her cheeks bloomed like a mushroom cloud. She opened the oven door.
He found it endearing that she was embarrassed about the therapy. He knew that feeling, too. ‘Therapists are mostly all talk, though, right?’
She pressed her finger into a cupcake to test it. Then slammed the door, shooting him an uncertain look. ‘You’ve had a therapist, too?’
‘I’ve had several, when my mum was sick. They weren’t all bad, but it seemed to me just talking about stuff wasn’t going to make my mum better. So what exactly were they being paid for?’
She propped her bottom on the counter, the smile that flitted over her features instant and genuine. ‘Same.’
His pulse gave a funny lurch. Not a big deal.
‘Aldo isn’t any different from other boys his age,’ he continued, the blip of panic unsettling enough for him to divert the conversation onto safer ground. Aldo was his area of expertise, after all.
‘Except that he doesn’t have a dad,’ Lizzie pointed out. ‘He doesn’t even know who his dad is.’
‘So what? Neither did I. It didn’t do me any harm,’ he said easily enough to make himself almost believe it. Until he saw curiosity sharpening her gaze and realised the conversation was right back where he didn’t want it again. On him.
Lizzie knew a lot of people who didn’t have dads, not just Aldo. She also knew people who had dads who were dick-heads. But still she felt bad for Trey. Which was silly really. Even if Trey had needed a dad once, as she often thought Aldo needed one now, he didn’t need one any more. He was strong and competent and confident. Except …
‘Why didn’t you want to hug Aldo, at the Serps?’ She’d been wanting to quiz him about that for days. ‘It was so obvious that’s what he needed, and he wanted it from you, not me.’
