Trust (London Love #5)

I pushed him ahead of me, towards my room. “I feel like your deranged bodyguard or something.”

I should probably have been embarrassed, but I wasn’t. At all. This was my place. It had a bed, a few shelves of things, my laptop charging on the side and my clothes scattered all over the floor. Just the way I liked it.

“Who’s this then?” he asked, picking up Mr Snuggles from my bed.

“Mr Snuggles,” I said. “I’ve had him since I was a kid, and don’t even start. He fits nicely in my arms, and I can’t sleep without him. He’s, like, just the right size.”

He held him against his chest. I tugged at Mr Snuggles so his head was up under Gray’s chin.

“He’s a cat…I think. Not sure anymore. I had to stitch him back together at some point because Dad washed him and he’s kind of old.”

And there he went, down onto my bed, still wearing his shoes. He rolled over on his side, exactly the way I would sleep, with Mr Snuggles tucked up against him.

It made me laugh. Because if I had been ridiculous from the start, now my life was truly absurd. On every level.

“What the hell are you doing in my bed? At least take your shoes off, man!”

“Comfy.” He grinned, even though he had his eyes closed.

“Dude!” I sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re still wearing your shoes.”

“Oh, I do apologise.” Bam. Dunk. Problem solved, he turned over so he was facing the window, leaving me nothing but a sliver of mattress.

“This is my room. My bed.”

“Yup.”

Spoilt idiot.

“If you hadn’t noticed, this is a two-bed place. My dad is in the front room, I’m here. You’re on the sofa, mate.”

“Nope.” He was laughing, which was good, but still.

“Gray,” I pleaded. I had no idea where we were going with this. I thought I was the impulsive, nutty one, but Gray was in a whole other league. And in need of therapy or something.

“I like your bed. And you said I could stay.”

“You can stay. On the sofa. Or I can drag some blankets in and you can kip on the floor.”

I wasn’t going to give in here.

“Well,” he said, sounding saner, calmer. “It’s a bed.”

“Yeah, and I used to share it with my cousin Luis when I was fourteen and he was, like, ten.”

“I’m twenty-eight,” he said.

Oh. I hadn’t known that. I’d thought he was only about twenty.

“Officially, they’re saying I’m twenty-two, which is total bullshit, but whatever.”

“Still doesn’t magically make the bed suitable for two grown men. I’m twenty-six, dude. We’re big, smelly, farty idiots. Far too big to share beds with other dudes.”

“I’m gay, Reubs. You know that, right? Even if I wasn’t, I’ve shared beds with blokes before. It’s just a case of spooning the right way and tucking your legs in. Easy. You should try sleeping on some of the tour buses we had in the States. Crazy times. Sometimes we had to take turns. Sometimes, we’d just squeeze in and pass out.”

“I’m not spooning with you.” I had my limits. Boundaries. “And I’m not gay. Just for the record.”

That cleared that up then.