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"I spoke to him myself. He transferred the money straight away and paid over the odds. And yes, I have the usual: drivers licence number, bank details and such. Definitely him, although cagey about giving them to me. Maybe he has a mistress he’s bringing down, wouldn’t be the first time."
She’s burbling—Gran loves red wine as much as I do. Hmm. Paid in full, so definitely not someone she wants me to kick out. "Oh."
"I'm sure you'll work something out, sweetie! Listen, I have to go. Monty is eating the curtains."
As she hangs up, I stare at the phone.Why me?
"And?" he asks with an eyebrow still cocked.
"Fine. I'll pack."
"Where will you go?"
"No idea."
He looks at me withthatlook again, curious and amused. "I won't kick you out into the night. We can stay together for one night?"
I splutter. "Yeah, right."
"Is my reputation bothering you?"
"Reputation as a bad driver?"
"No." Shaking his head a little, the guy holds out a hand. "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Dylan. Dylan Morgan."
I stare at his hand, and wonder why he wears so many rings—big solid silver bands. When we shake hands, I'm aware of a weird, but not unpleasant, tingling continuing up my arm and somehow hitching my breath.
"Um. I’m Sky."
His mouth tilts at one side. "You're funny. It's refreshing."
I have no clue whether he's insulting me or not, but for some reason, under his scrutiny, more heat creeps across my cheeks. Why the expectant look? Am I supposed to know who he is?
The curry congeals on the floor next to me, and as if on cue, my stomach rumbles. I cough to try to disguise the sound.
"Pizza," he says as if forgetting where he is. "You will eat with me? I don't often share pizza with funny chicks."
Chicks.I scowl, but he's earnest. Do serial killers have a detectable aura? I always thought I was a good judge of character, though that's cast into doubt recently, thanks to Grant wearing a girl on his head. Dylan has a presence. Confident, a little arrogant, but I don't feel unsafe. Besides, Gran has his details. The guy looks tired, and I think something is dragging him down too. How do I know? I don’t, but something in his presence reflects my own state.
What strikes me more than his possible psycho status is how those eyes brightened since we spoke and how much they’ve disarmed me.
“Hawaiian. A whole one." I promise myself that I'll eat less chocolate tomorrow.
