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He still isn’t wearing a shirt, and he wasn’t all through the police interviews and everything else that’s happened. No one said anything. The young female cop certainty didn’t, and Casper didn’t seem to care.
If I looked like him, I’d never wear clothes.
“I’ll just grab a couple hours on the sofa and then be out of your way,” I tell him, wringing my hands. This was probably a bad idea. I don’t think I’ll be able to relax enough to sleep.
“You’ll have my room.”
I bark out a laugh and quickly snap my teeth together. His face is completely blank, but he’s not joking. These moments make it impossible to figure him out, and I get the impression he likes it that way.
“You’re serious. Casper, I’m not taking your bed. Look, I’m sure Reggie won’t mind if—”
“No,” he snaps, eyes flashing with… panic? Anger? Irritation?
It’s a non-negotiable reply in a sharp tone that cuts through the thick tension between us, though I’m probably jumpier than usual because my house was broken into last night.
There’s no apology for scaring me. Instead, he takes my hand again and steps closer. I think I can smell the shower gel he uses on his skin. Why didn’t I notice that before? I want to bathe in it.
“It doesn’t make sense for you to take the sofa when there are two empty rooms. I know Reggie wouldn’t mind,” I say. My voice is feeble and dies the moment he steps up so he’s toe-to-toe with me.
He takes a deep breath. I’ve seen him do this a few times in my presence, as if it takes a lot of effort to be around me.
“You’re not sleeping in Reggie’s room, you’re sleeping in mine. Go on up. You know where it is.”
He turns around, walks into the kitchen, and leaves me standing by the locked door.
I glance up the stairs like I’m looking at a mountain I need to hike. Casper’s room is up there, and I’m supposed to go to sleep in his bed.
Damn, I wish he would have let me use Reggie’s room. I really don’t think he would mind, but I understand that Casper doesn’t want to allow it without Reggie’s permission. It’s not like I can call Reggie, either, because then I’ll have to explain. When my friends find out, they’ll want to come home, and I’m not ruining their Easter break.
I climb the stairs and push open Casper’s bedroom door. My room is on the other side of his wall. I used to get into bed and feel safe. I’d look at the wall separating us and think how scary it must be over there—a place where I’m hated, unwanted. Now all that has been flipped.
Closing my eyes, I breathe through my nose, stepping deeper into his room. I hate to admit it but surrounded by everything Casper, I instantly feel better.
I take a look around. The walls are painted dark grey, despite the fact that we’re not allowed to decorate from the off-white the whole house is painted in. It’s furnished with chunky wooden pieces and navy bedding.
Pulling off the hoodie the female cop grabbed for me, I climb into his bed and sink into his mattress. God, his pillow is so soft, like laying my head on a cloud. I might find a way to steal his bedding. It’s probably ridiculously expensive, made with the feathers from swans or fur from unicorns.
It’s only when I close my eyes that I realise I’ve been wearing my pyjamas this whole time. I thank all available gods that I chose my black shorts and shirt. It could have been so much worse. Some of them have avocados on them.
The smell of the bedsheets is a mixture of fabric softener andhim. I try not to think about the number of women he’s had in here. There have been repeats, but I bet his number is still high. I’m so grateful his bedding smells freshly washed.
I slowly sink down a fraction more until the pillow and mattress has moulded around me. This is heaven. It’s definitely not the mattress that was provided when we all moved in.
Why the hell is he living here when he can afford so much better? If I was him, I’d live at home in that mansion and commute. Who leaves a house that has a maze and pool? He’s not normal.
I manage to drift in and out of sleep, but I’m woken about every fifteen minutes thinking I can hear a bump, my heart sprinting towards a coronary, a sheen of sweat on my neck.
It’s probably Casper trying to get comfortable on the sofa.
But what if it isn’t?
He’s down there alone.
Rubbing my eyes, I groan and finally give up. I won’t be able to relax.
I reluctantly get out of his bed and make my way downstairs. The sofa is empty, and that makes my stomach clench for a second, until I hear a clink in the kitchen.
When I walk through the door, I find him sitting at the counter with a mug of coffee. My anxiety dissipates as soon as I see that he’s fine.
