Chapter Five

Heath had a successful shopping trip. He bought a discounted suitcase in TK Maxx—bright pink but what the hell—and carried the groceries back in it. It raised a few eyebrows when he packed it in Tesco Extra but he didn’t care. It was actually an easy way to cart a lot of stuff, some of it heavy. He’d probably bought too much, but it would save him going out again.

He filled the fridge with food. He might be on a limited budget until he found work, but he didn’t intend to starve. Plus, he needed a few treats after what had happened. Christmas was coming! He’d even bought a bottle of inexpensive champagne to celebrate whatever —something would occur to him—and tucked it in the bottom of the fridge. It was chilled but the colder it was, the better it would taste.

After stuffing another load of Fabian’s washing into the machine, and starting the dryer, he stripped off in the bedroom. The relief of being on his own, not having to worry about what had pissed Diego off that day—there was always some grumpy customer in the salon—and not having his aunt criticising the way he sat, ate or breathed, made Heath want to dance naked in the sunshine. Except it was still snowing lightly and getting dark outside. No dancing tonight. Well, maybe later. He could always have a flick through those porn mags and manage a horizontal tango for one.

He lit the three fat candles that were perched on the bathroom windowsill and admired the reflection in the stained- glass window. Heath turned on the hot taps and poured in half a bottle of rose-scented gel that had to be Stef’s. Sorry Stef. While he waited for the tub to fill, he shaved, and not just his face. If he was going to pamper his body, he’d treat all of it. With a deep-conditioning purple goo smeared on his hair and a lurid green scrub plastered all over his neck and face, he climbed into the tub and lay back in the sea of foam.

Bliss. It was as though every worry was seeping away. He closed his eyes and tried to think only positive thoughts.

There would be a job out there for him. He could always temp until he found the perfect fit. He didn’t mind moving out of the capital. It would be cheaper for a start. There was bound to be a company somewhere in the UK that needed tax advice or their accounts checking. He could live where he liked. Sign on, if he had to. Except, he wasn’t sure that walking out of a job would mean he was entitled to anything.

He should have left Dickhead’s Fleshlight behind and filled it with itching powder. Too late now, though he allowed himself a little daydream of what results that would have wrought.

Even better, maybe Dickhead’s cock would wilt when he climbed into bed with Benny.

Or maybe Diego’s hair would start to fall out. For good. Served him right.

Perhaps his aunt would turn up at a party in the same dress as three other women. Oh the horror. Served her right too.

He pictured a new man in his life who didn’t complain if he sometimes said no . Someone who said— you’re so sensible, I agree that it’s much better to stop and think before you launch yourself into the unknown.

Heath knew he couldn’t change the way he was in a flash. He had to start small and work up to being Mr Absolutely Positive. At least think before he said no. A thought that made him smile.

He was going to be a yes guy from now on.

Just as long as he wasn’t asked to agree to anything too wild. Like eating sushi. He winced. He was fine with a California roll but nothing else. Eel…ugh. Raw tuna…ugh.

Stop it! He could have a peanut butter sandwich when he was out of the bath. His favourite snack. Yes!

By the time Tristan got back he was wet, cold and shivering. Three black coffees, a slice of cake—a flapjack—and a walk around the block in the snow had gone a long way to sobering him up. Though now he’d decided he didn’t like being sober. It allowed him to think and thinking hurt. He’d forgotten what the stages of grief were but he was self-indulgently floundering through most of them at the same time. He was all for efficiency.

Though not denial. It had all definitely happened. The embarrassing proposal and the laughter. He had messages from his friends to confirm it wasn’t a reality slip. He was pretty sure embarrassment wasn’t one of the stages of grief, but he felt that along with humiliated—maybe that wasn’t one either—but also shocked, depressed, stupid, weak, sad and annoyed. And…in need of alcohol. Oh God. He had to stop drinking.

Maybe his first good idea for a while, but even so, he considered continuing past the flat on to the Tesco Extra to buy a ready meal and a bottle of wine, instead of his customary pizza and beer, but he was so chilled and depressed, he couldn’t be arsed. One thing he was going to do was keep the place clean from now on.

Angel chased him up the stairs. Tristan just escaped a rake from the cat’s claws and closed the door on a loud snarl. He snarled back through the door. He stripped off—no point wrecking the cleaner’s hard work—and left his clothes where he stepped out of them. All of them. They needed washing and he needed a shower. The fridge was sort of on the way to the bathroom, and Tristan vaguely remembered not checking the vegetable drawer for a beer. Last one, then he was done. He wouldn’t buy more.

When he pulled open the door of the fridge, his jaw dropped. He almost heard the clunk as it hit the floor. Pasta, salad, hummus, lemon, cauliflower, bread and—champagne. His face lit in a smile. Maybe Fabian was less of a prick than he thought. A few weeks late for Tristan’s birthday, but since he’d also missed Fabian’s, it’d be churlish to complain. He grabbed the champagne bottle and then put it back. Then took it out again. A shower and a bottle of bubbly. Or a soak in the tub. Though he’d have to clean it. Tristan might not usually be a slob but Fabian was. A bath might even make him feel human. And if it didn’t, he’d be pissed again, which was just as good. In his case, even better. How quickly I’ve fallen. Tomorrow then. New start on a new day.

He twisted open the wire on the neck of the bottle as he made for the bathroom. Using his backside to nudge open the door, he flipped out the cork as he walked in, only to yell, “Jesus Fucking Christ!”

Champagne frothed down his hand as he stared at the creature in the tub. That was it. He’d never drink again. Ever. Maybe just one last mouthful. He chugged from the bottle. The spiky purple-green thing gave a weird sort of close-mouthed mournful cry and disappeared under the foamy surface.

“Shit, shit.” Tristan clutched the bottle tighter and stepped toward the tub. Under the froth of purple-and-green-tinged bubbles he could see frantic movement where he’d just seen a head. One half of his brain knew full well what this was, the other half tried to convince him a monster from the sewers had somehow crept up the plughole and brought its lagoon with it. If he hadn’t been most of the way to sober, he might have been convinced.

A head surfaced, green around the hairline and eyes so wide he could see white all the way round the blue irises. The other half of Fabian’s present? A man who got paid to say yes to whatever he was asked to do? What the fuck was his brother thinking? And how did he know he and Grant were done? Who’d told him?

The swamp-monster’s mouth was open, its lips glistening, purple ears protruding from the now flat wet locks. Oh God. He’s good-looking. He looked like a little elf and Tristan jerked the champagne bottle down to hide his instantly intrigued cock. I’m not that drunk then.

“Who the hell are you?” the elf asked.

Tristan opened his mouth and gave a loud burp. Shit. “Pardon me.”

“That’s my champagne.”

His for the moment. No way was he moving the bottle. So not a gift from Fabian. Neither the booze nor the elf in the tub. Oh Christ, nor the food. Nor the flat cleaning. A squatter? He must have left the door ajar when he went out that morning. What an idiot. Squatters weren’t easy to get rid of. Fabian would kill him.

“What are you doing in here?” the elf asked.

“What are you doing in here?”

Maybe not a squatter, just someone who wasn’t very bright and had wandered into the wrong flat. Don’t be an idiot.

“This is my brother’s place,” Tristan said.

The elf groaned and slumped deeper into the foam. “Fabian’s your brother?”

So he knew Fabian? His brother was bi but he was currently really into Stef so… Tristan glared. “Yeah, he’s out of the country but he has a girlfriend. Stef. So you’re too late, sweetheart. He’s no longer available.”

“I’m Heath. Stef’s friend. She told me Fabian said I could stay here while I looked for a job and a place to live. No one said you’d be here.”

Ah. Yes, well, he shouldn’t be. He’d helped himself to the spare key Fabian had left with their mother. And if he’d been thinking straight, he’d have registered the food couldn’t be for him since no one knew he was there, including his brother.

“He must have forgotten,” Tristan said. “So it was you who cleaned the place and filled the fridge, and not a house-elf?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. What a transformation. I was a bit scared to look in the closet in case I was dragged into some mythical kingdom. The place was a mess. I know it was a mess. I should have done something about it. I was wallowing. I’m a pig. Sorry. I am a pig though in my defence, Fabian had left the place in a pretty bad state.” Stop babbling. “My name’s Tristan. Pleased to meet you, Heath.” Really pleased. Fortunately, he managed not to say that, and he was still hiding his cock’s particular version of welcome with the champagne bottle.

Only—what now? There was only one bed and it was his, not this intruder’s.

Unless…