Trust (London Love #5)

“On your chin.”

I was an absolute tool, but he just laughed and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Embarrassed, I dutifully grabbed the bag and plucked out a small tub of the red stuff, opening it carefully.

Then I shoved a load of chips into it and stuffed them in my gob.

My god. I’d missed chips. All that dirty, greasy goodness. Shaking with anticipation or hunger or maybe both, I unpacked the burger from the waxy paper in front of me, picked it up with both hands and took a huge bite.

Reuben grinned. “Are you even supposed to eat that?”

“I can do whatever I want!” I protested, but I was smiling around the mouthful of bread, beef and cheese.

“Of course you can. As long as that Lauren isn’t here putting her nose in your business. I see what it’s like. Can’t be all that fun.”

“It’s not,” I agreed. “I feel…”

I had no idea what I felt. I truly didn’t. So I just ate and enjoyed Reuben’s quiet company, and for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I had a big, hard, horrible lead balloon in my chest.

Money in the bank

REUBEN

He ate quietly, steadily, like he was savouring every mouthful, gripping firmly around that burger as if he expected someone to snatch it right out of his hands. He had nice nails. All shiny and perfect. Not like mine that were bitten down and looked like crap.

I didn’t care much about the way I looked. Not anymore. I mean, I was clean and tidy and used deodorant and all that, but none of the rest of the stuff people waffled on about. Even my dad moisturised. Bought big bottles of weird-smelling lotions that he slathered all over. Not that it made him look any better. My dad was a handsome dude. Tall and built and impressive all over. He didn’t even work out, but doing the job we both did, we were both kind of fit and strong.

Who was I kidding? I was textbook mediocre. A normal kid, a bit taller than average, and my skin was better than it used to be, but I showered and shaved and that was it. No point doing more when I had the kind of hair that even the local barber had given up on.

The Dieter, though?

“Yo, man. Talk to me. Wanna tell me why you’re here? I mean, you mentioned something about someone flaking out on you. Wanna talk about that?”

“Not really.” He took another big, showy bite out his burger. I hadn’t joked about them being fully loaded, because that burger joint was the best for miles around. My dad and I were the kings of brilliant takeaways.

“Then why the hell are you camping out in a hotel suite on your own? For fun?”

“Does this look like fun to you?” he kind of snarled.

“It does, actually. And yeah, I invited myself in to dine with you because I mean, how often do I get an excuse to hang out in the King George Suite?”

“Like daily, I suppose?” he snapped back, but he was smiling. Good. “You work here, don’t you? Fancy uniform and ID around your neck and all that?”

“Doesn’t mean I can just come up here and hang out. To be honest, I shouldn’t be here now. Us employees are not supposed to fraternise with the guests.”

He snorted. “A bit late for that…mate.”

Prickly little bastard.

“Dieter—”

“My name’s Graham, actually.”

He looked small and uncomfortable as he said it, like the name didn’t sit right in his mouth.

“Is that what your mates call you?”

Rude. But whatever.

“Yeah. Or Gray. G.” Now he looked embarrassed.