Trust (London Love #5)

My name—my real name—was Graham Smith. Yep. I could hear the laughter in my head whenever I thought about it. It had been a nerd’s name growing up. It still was. When I’d turned up for that audition, those people had laughed too, told me I’d have to change it straight away. Nobody wanted a pop star called Graham. It wasn’t even spelt the posh way. Graeme would at least have looked smarter, but then nobody knew how to pronounce that.

They’d all talked about me like I hadn’t even existed back then. They still did.

There was a heavy knock on my door. The kind that made me freeze up. I sat there with my phone in a death grip and tried not to hyperventilate.

Nobody knew I was here.

Nobody.

“Dude!” came from the other side of the door, accompanied by another heavy bang of fist against wood.

Reuben. Of course. I scrabbled off the bed.

“Man,” he said as I opened the door. “Were you asleep or something?”

“You saying I look like shit?” I laughed. I actually laughed. I had no idea why. Relief perhaps?

Reuben carried in two bags of junk food that smelt incredible.

“It’s my favourite. Thought I’d treat you. You did say you needed feeding, and…yeah.”

“What is it?”

I took back the politeness because clearly he had none, as he stood there, paying no attention to me whatsoever and looking around the room.

Rooms.

There was a dining room with a kitchenette, then another bedroom at the other end and bathrooms too. Like an actual apartment.

He finally completed his rotation and looked at me. “Wanna eat at the table? Or just slob out on the sofa?”

I had a sofa? I grinned again. These things never got old. I’d gone from living in a small box room in my parents’ bungalow to slumming it in basic hotel rooms to getting free upgrades to ridiculous suites with hot tubs and infinity pools and all that crap I never dared to use. Not my kind of thing.

I truly was a spoilt brat, and Reuben had brought me food. And invited himself to dine with me, apparently.

“Has this place got a hot tub?” came out of my scatty mouth. I had no idea what was happening right now. Apart from that I followed Reuben into the dining room and sat at the table like I was a small child waiting to be served. I might as well have asked him to tie a napkin around my stupid neck.

“Cheeseburgers. All the way.” He smiled and tipped a bag of fries out onto the table. “And no. No hot tub. There is a pool, though. I can book a private session for you if you fancy a swim.”

“Plates are a thing, Reubs,” I muttered like we were friends or something. We weren’t. I knew that. I also knew I had to be careful with people. I wasn’t allowed to make friends. Not these kinds of friends anyway. These kinds of friends could easily turn into people who’d pretty much destroy your sanity.

I knew that too.

He passed me a paper cup and a straw, which I had to insert myself.

“No. I don’t need…a swim.”

Then I shut my mouth because he slapped a burger down in front of me, sat and carefully unwrapped his own burger.

Reuben. He seemed a decent enough lad. Not bad-looking. Scarred skin from teen acne, something I remembered well, my own having been corrected and polished until I didn’t recognise myself, and my teeth weren’t even mine anymore. All that perfect white in my gob made me look a prat, but that’s apparently what got me voted Man of the Year in some big magazine—my dazzling smile. This Reuben would never be voted man of anything, with his messy, frizzy mop of hair and twinkly eyes and teeth that were kind of crooked at the front. He had a good smile, though. Looked kind. Was kind. Cute in a fun way. I liked him.

I realised I was daydreaming and still staring at the poor guy, so I did what I always did, stupid-spluttered something that sounded like I was regurgitating food when I hadn’t even started eating.

“Dig in, mate,” Reuben encouraged, sitting there with a drop of ketchup running down his chin like it was nothing.

“Ketchup,” I said.

“In the bag.”