Trust (London Love #5)

Which made me cackle, because I was no different than anyone else.

I’d actually pulled off something clever with that little stunt in McDonalds, which, by the way, I had not planned on, because it made Reuben fear for my life, and now he didn’t let me out of his sight. I slept in his bed. Every night. He held me and stroked my hair, and his dad made me cups of tea and…and…

I loved it.

Being with him.

It had also landed me in all the tabloids, and social media was rife with blurry shots of Reuben dragging my daft arse out of a crowd of screaming fans, and into a car. The licence plate in full view. Yeah. Stewart was not happy about that, but it still hadn’t put a dampener on my high spirits because for the first time in…I don’t know, but it felt like forever…I was genuinely happy.

I hadn’t had sex in months, but it didn’t matter because I had a stunningly beautiful man that I came home to, and even though I didn’t even get a kiss goodnight, he made me smile. And I made him laugh. And it was just. Easy.

Reuben. He was stunning. His smile. His laughter. The way he just…looked after me.

So bloody easy.

When I got home that evening, he was in the kitchen, and I just swept him up. Hugged the shit out of him and pressed a small kiss into his neck.

Boundaries. I still struggled a bit with those.

“G,” he said sternly. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

“Talks like a boyfriend. Walks like a boyfriend.” I smacked a kiss on his cheek. “Boyfriend.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Dad’s out. Gone down the pub. Quiz night,” he said, then laughed. “And if you think that means you can try it on, let me tell you this.”

“What?” I laughed.

“No.”

He drained the pot he’d been stirring and poured two full portions of pasta onto plates. Knob of butter. My grain-abused stomach growled. Food. Proper food.

“Ketchup?” he asked.

I took the bottle out of his hand and grabbed some cutlery from the drawer.

Glasses. Water.

“Thank you,” I said softly. “This looks lovely.”

He grinned. “Still not a date.”

Yeah. He didn’t need to remind me.

“I think the house?” I shoved a forkful of pasta into my mouth. “They’re getting back to me tomorrow. If they accept my offer.”

“So you’re moving out?”

“Well, yeah.”

That hurt more than I would’ve admitted, but the look on his face?

Boyfriend. Told you.

“I can’t live here forever. Your dad will start to demand rent.”

“Like that would be a hardship.” He flicked a piece of pasta at me. I picked it up and threw it back at him.