He’s handsome. That’s the only thought that passes through my head as I stare at the boy in front of me. He’s got a dark shirt on that clings to his body, showing off the muscles of his stomach. His black hair hangs in loose curls on his forehead and he stares at me intently with hazel eyes that have an expression I can’t place. I was going to be sharing a house with this person. The thought gives me a thrill of excitement.

“My name’s Freddy,” I say, sticking my hand out in greeting.

“Thank God for you, Freddy.” I can feel a spark flare up where he touches me, shaking my hand in a firm grip. “If not for you, I’d be stuck choosing between one thirsty girl or another.”

“You had a host of girls throw themselves at you, and you chose me for a roommate instead,” I laugh, “You don’t have very good taste.”

“Is that so? What are you like, then?”

“Well, I like art and getting drunk on the weekends, for starters.”

“We’re going to get along splendidly.”

~~~~~

A few weeks later, I sit at the table, editing the photos I took of Fancy. This one is particularly enticing. Her naked back is toward the camera, her spine sticking out faintly as she hunches her shoulders forward. She holds a green silk sheet against the front of her body with one hand, exposing just enough of the side of her breast to be tasteful. She looks at me over her shoulder, her other arm raised to run her hands through her hair. The photos capture the brilliant red strands slipping out from her fingers. Her makeup is sultry, making her eyes stand out.

My phone buzzes next to me. I ignore it, continuing to the next photo.

Fancy is on the ground, the camera angled to fly over her body. Her face is off to the side, so the focus is her fingers twirling a string of pearls around her neck. The light reflects in the blue nail polish. In the background, her breasts swell under the thin pink fabric of her bra. Her legs are bent, knees knocked in toward each other. I feel an appreciative growl escape my throat, remembering how I took her on the floor after I snapped the photo.

I flip to the next one - she’s on her stomach, her ass in the air - when a series of texts come in, one after another. After the fourth one I finally pick up my phone. They’re all from Fancy.

Come to Oxford ;)

I want to see you ;)

Please

Freddy

I know you’ve got your phone on you

Why?

I want to see you more often

And I don’t want to drive an hour to do it.

I think about her implication. What had started as a night here and there had turned into a biweekly event and she had started staying with me during her visits instead of running off in the mornings. Our rough sex had turned into almost passionate love making. There is a different feel to whatever is going on between us now. Our fling had somehow become something more.

I type out, Maybe.

You can stay at my place. My cousin won’t mind

You live with your cousin? Is she going to join us? ;)

HE wouldn’t mind it, but I definitely would :P

Ah. I hadn’t been with a man in five years and I wasn’t about to start. When?

Come tonight. I’ve got a new set I want to show you ;)

I chew on my bottom lip, seriously contemplating it. I don’t have any solid roots in London, and there’s nothing left for me here anyway, seeing as I don’t go out anymore. My life has dwindled down to working at the table and fucking Fancy in the bed, or the other way around. Moving to a different city would be good for me. I could start over, maybe turn this thing with Fancy into something serious.

Give me a couple hours.

By the time I pull up to the quiet neighborhood, it’s nearly one o’clock. The dark stone house peeks out under strands of ivy climbing up the walls. It’s quaint, with stairs leading to the door and little flower boxes under the windows. I pull out my phone, messaging Fancy. Within minutes, I see a light turn on in an upstairs window. She comes out smiling radiantly. She grabs my hand.

“Oliver’s still asleep, so you’ve got to be quiet.”

I check at the name for an instant but she pulls me through the house, not noticing. The sitting room that looks like it’s straight out of a magazine. The blue couch is illuminated by the moon coming through the large bay window. A fireplace with low burning embers is on the adjacent wall. We go under an ornate archway into the kitchen and then through another one to a set of stairs. I let her lead me down the hall.

When we tumble into her bed, Fancy starts giggling.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“You asked, didn’t you?” I kiss her, slipping a hand under her shirt. “Haven’t you got something to show me?”

~~~~~~

I wake up to the feel of Fancy’s mouth on me. I open my eyes to watch her and it doesn’t take me long to finish. When I do, she lifts her head and smiles at me, licking her lips. God, she’s hot. Fancy crawls to the top of the bed and kisses me, her fingers roaming my chest.

“Morning,” she mumbles into my mouth.

“Morning.”

Fancy pulls away and sits up. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like an angel.” My eyes slip to the art on her walls, drawn specifically to a vivid red cardinal, perched on a snow-covered branch. Its beady eye stares back at me. “Are these yours?”

She blushes prettily. “Yeah. I’m not very good.”

“They look good to me.”

With a happy smile, she leans in to kiss me again and then jumps off the bed sliding into the shirt and shorts I tore off her last night. “I’ll make lunch, yeah?”

I glance at the clock on the bedside table. It’s 12:45. “Alright.”

I stretch on the bed for a second more before getting up, admiring the drawings as I pull on my own discarded clothes. Next to the cardinal is a grove of trees, brilliant green foliage dappled with sunlight. Next to that, a gazebo covered in snow. She’d paid such attention to detail, it’s astounding. I give the cardinal another curious glance before lighting a cig and leaving the room.

By the time I get down the stairs, Fancy is already working at the stove She’s got the radio on and is swaying her hips to the music.

“Put that out,” she says without turning around. “There’s no smoking in the house.”

I douse the cigarette in a pot of water in the sink and sneak up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and nipping her ear. I leave kisses on her neck, giving her a particularly possessive bruise on the area between her neck and shoulder. I start to slip a hand under her shirt. She whacks me with the spatula.

“Go sit down, you insatiable cad.”

I laugh, giving her ass a pinch before sliding a chair out. It affords me a view of the backyard. Purple and yellow flowers spill out of pots along the edge of the patio. The grass beyond is littered with brown leaves, though most of the trees are still bright red, orange, and yellow. There’s a little greenhouse off to the side, still green plants flourishing. It’s got a domestic feel to it.

Fancy brings my attention back inside by plopping a plate of eggs in front of me.

“I’m not the greatest cook,” she admits, “But I thought after all the breakfasts you’ve made me, the least I could do is try.”

I take one bite and grimace. “This is terrible,” I say as I spit it out into a napkin.

She giggles. “That bad?”

“I’ve had escargot that tastes better than this.”

She rests a hand on my knee. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t attempt.”

“Please don’t ever do this again,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face.

She takes the plate with a playful scowl, dumping the food in the trash as I get up to take over the cooking. Fancy dances around the kitchen as I throw together eggs and spices. She comes up behind me and slips her hands up my chest, placing kisses on my back.

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“Who’s the cad now?” I ask. I hear the front door open in the other room.

“Fancy, are you really making breakfast?”

I freeze. I’d know that voice anywhere. I had left it pleading and on the verge of tears in Greece and never expected to hear it again, least of all here. I can still see his face, sorrowful and distraught, begging me to stay. Telling me we’d get through everything, that we could do this. I shut my eyes, taking a shuddering breath in.

Fancy misinterprets my reaction and gives me a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just Oliver,” she whispers.

I know. I don’t say the words out loud, as if by not admitting it, he’ll disappear. I’m afraid to turn around, even as a part of me begs to see his face.

“Well I was trying,” Fancy is saying. “But Freddy didn’t approve, so now he’s doing it.”

“God, did you bring your flavor of the night home with you?”

I wince at the derision. Fancy moves away from me. “Don’t be rude. My flavor of the night, as you say, has actually been my flavor of the last few months.”

“Oh, is this why you’ve been running up to London every other week?”

“This is Freddy. Freddy, come meet my cousin.”

There’s no avoiding it now. I dump the food from the pan onto a plate and turn around. He’s sitting at the table, flipping through his phone. His hair is an array of curly tufts, just like I remember. The sun lights up his face and highlights the light stubble on his chin. The corner of his mouth is twisted into a frown as he says,

“What makes this one special?”

“Well, he can cook for one thing.” From the side of my eye, I can tell Fancy is looking at me, a grin on her face, but I only have eyes for the man in front of me. I set the plate in front of him.

“Thanks mate,” he says, finally looking up. His eyes, his beautiful, brilliant hazel eyes, flare wide within seconds and his mouth drops. All we can do is stare at each other. I drink in his features greedily, memorizing the shape of his face, the arch of his eyebrows, the sharp edges of his jaw. For a moment, it’s as if the years have fallen away and we’re eighteen again, meeting each other for the first time. He had looked at me the same way, making me feel like I was the only person in the world.

I bite my lip and hear him mutter under his breath, “Shit.”

Fancy steps up to my side, interlacing our fingers. She kisses me on the cheek, saying, “He’s different, Oliver.”

When he looks at me again, he doesn’t look angry like I expect, like he should be, but there’s a touch of coldness that makes me flinch. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Don’t be jealous because I found him first.”

He scoffs. “You can keep him. He’s not my type.”

I deserve the chilly statement, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Fancy leans against me in what I suppose is a supportive gesture.

“Listen, I’ve invited Freddy to stay with us for a bit.”

“You did what?” He turns his fierce eyes to his cousin, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, he’s in Oxford and needs a place to live,” she lies. She crinkles her nose. “I’ve just remembered that I promised Mica I’d help her find a dress for tonight, so I’ll leave you two to become friends. Be nice.”

When she leaves the kitchen, a heavy silence falls. I’m not sure what to do so I just stand there as he picks up a fork and shovels the food around the plate. Fancy comes back down, waves bye, and leaves. Still, he doesn’t say anything. I feel nauseous and my head hurts. I wish I had finished that cigarette.

After another minute, he points the fork at the chair opposite him. “You can sit down, you know,” he rasps out.

I hesitate, unsure of if I want to run away or not. I decide to take the seat slowly. I watch his hands as he plays with the eggs, noticing with a jolt that he’s still wearing the silver and emerald ring I gave him years ago. I had gotten it for him as a graduation present, but it had meant something more too. It had been a promise. And I broke it.

I fiddle with my fingers, figuring out how to speak to this person. I settle for, “Hello, Ollie.”

He lifts his head, looking at me. Really looking. I think I see the frozen gaze crack and concern shine out for a brief second. I know what he must see - a pale, scrawny creature with gloomy eyes and a hollow face. I’m nothing like the vibrant, bright person he used to know.

“You look fucking terrible,” he finally says when an uncomfortable number of minutes pass. “You look worse than when you thought you could live off popcorn and biscuits.”

“I’ve been busy,” I say by way of explanation.

“Too busy to eat?”

“I’ve been eating.”

“Not enough,” he snaps.

A laugh slips out as we fall back into the old argument. “Alright yeah, my diet mostly consists of Bacardi and nicotine.”

His eyebrows immediately furrow, the worry too obvious to miss. He puts the fork down and folds his hands. He seems to fight himself before he asks, “Are you okay?”

I feel a pang at the question. Somehow, his ability to care for me hasn’t changed. “I’m fine,” I say quietly.

“That’s what you said in March, and then you disappeared again.” His voice sounds accusing, but when I catch his eye, he just looks sad. I think about that call, the kindness in his voice back then, the love that I could still feel radiating down the line. I hadn’t felt like I deserved it, so I had ignored the second chance he had given me. I had fucked my way around London to forget about the fact that he had invited me to visit him, and that he had said he missed me. The shame of it slams into me. I don’t have any words for him so I just look stare helplessly at the table.

Ollie runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, leaning back. “I don’t know whether to punch you, or kiss you.”

My lips twitch. I deserved the one and I desperately wanted the other. I give a weak shrug. “Both?”

He rubs his face, frowning. “I waited for you to come back, you know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I stayed in Greece for two extra weeks, thinking you’d walk through that door again, like you’d just gone out to walk it off. And then I waited at every damn stop on the tour we planned, expecting you to show up. I hoped for weeks that it was all just an nightmare and I’d wake up with you in my arms again, and I’d kiss you, and love you, and everything would be alright.”

I can feel my heart breaking. “I’m sorry,” I choke out again.

“And then I woke up one morning and it hit me. You were gone. For good. You weren’t coming back, you weren’t going to call. So when I checked out of that last hotel, I shut the door on us.”

His face starts getting blurry. I try to blink away the tears but just succeed in spilling them. Through them, I see Ollie’s nose twitch, the way it always does when he’s lying. A flutter of hope rises in my chest. “I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Why hadn’t I? Because I had been so afraid of my past coming between us, that I had let it do just that. I had been scared of what he would say to me if I walked through those doors again after a week, two weeks, two months. I hadn’t wanted to see his anger, or sadness. I had betrayed him, and I hadn’t been ready to face that. So I had let the months slip by until they became years. And the more time I kept silent, the more scared I was to talk to him.

“I couldn’t.”

Ollie scoffs. “That’s a bullshit answer. God, we had three years together. We were building something; we were happy.”

“Happiest three years of my life.” Not a lie.

“Then why’d you leave?”

I fidget with my hands, unable to look him in the eye. “I didn’t want you to be bothered by her anymore. I thought if I walked away, she would leave you alone.”

“I never would have let Leah come between us, if you had just trusted me.”

I flinch at the name of the girl who had ruined everything. The messages that had followed us across Europe still haunt me to this day. Leah had tried to drive a wedge between me and Ollie, and while she never succeeded in making him hate me because of her lies, she still managed to destroyed our relationship. At least, she’d played a hand in helping me destroy it.

“You were so angry about it,” I whisper, wiping my face. “I hated seeing you like that.”

“Of course I was angry! She was ruining our trip.” He looks down at his hands. “I was going to ask you to marry me, you know. At the end of it all.”

It’s like a punch to the face. I watch him play with his ring, twirling it around his finger. “You should have done it at the beginning,” I say.

“Would it have changed anything?”

“It might have.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, isn’t it?” He sighs deeply. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’ve moved on and you’ve got Cici.” His nose twitches again.

I blink. I had almost forgotten about her. That’s right, I was only here because of her. I had entertained the idea that I was starting to feel something for her, maybe enough to start a real relationship with her. Those thoughts had gone right out the window at the sight of Ollie.

“How long have you been sleeping with her?”

In the rare moments when I had allowed myself to imagine meeting Ollie again, this was definitely not the topic of conversation. I shift awkwardly. He lets out a mirthless laugh. “Oh come on, it’s not a secret. I heard you fucking all night.”

“Sorry.”

“You still make that noise right before you get off.” I blush furiously and shoot him a rapid glare. He smirks mischievously for a second, and then it falls from his face. “You’re the first guy she’s brought to the house, you know. Says a lot about you.”

I don’t know what to say. I think of all the girls I’ve had between here and Russia and think it just means Fancy’s got poor taste in men. “I got the impression she had a lot of mates to sleep with.”

“Yeah, but she never brings them here.”

“I guess she thought it was time to meet you.”

“How long have you been seeing each other then?”

“Since June.”

He looks surprised. “That’s incredible.”

I scratch the back of my head, embarrassed. “It’s just three months.”

“That’s a record for her. Listen,” Ollie leans forward, placing his forearms on the table. “You can’t tell her about us, alright? She finally looks happy for once. It would devastate her.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “She wasn’t happy before?”

He hesitates for a second, as if debating what to say to me. Then he says simply, “She’s better.”

“I won’t,” I say. “Tell her, that is. I don’t even know how I’d have that conversation.”

“You would start by telling her you’re gay.”

I smile a bit, dropping my gaze. “More like bi-curious.”

“I’d hate to think you were just experimenting with my cousin.” His sharp tone makes me look up. He’s giving me a mild glare, his brow lifted. “She’s like a sister to me and I’ll kick your ass if you hurt her.”

I laugh, raising my hands defensively. “I’m not. I think I’m starting to feel something for her.” I’m a little startled as the words leave my mouth. I think of her smile from this morning and it sends a little thrill through me. I feel a bit guilty as I glance at Ollie. Nothing I feel for her could ever top the emotions that well up at the sight of him, but if he was trying to convince himself that he’d moved on, then maybe it was time for me to do the same.

“Good,” Ollie says, getting up. “I’m happy for you.”

I realize he means it. He might be sad to see me with someone else, but he’s not bitter about it. If I was happy with his cousin, then he would bury his own feelings for my sake. Like always, putting me before him.

“This you?”

I turn to see him standing by the sink, holding up my soaked cigarette. “Sorry, yeah. I didn’t have anywhere else to put it. I was gonna get it out.”

“You’re smoking again?” He sounds upset, and I catch his eye. He’s looking at me with such overwhelming concern that I feel my throat start to choke up.

“I picked it up in France,” I manage to sputter out.

Ollie drops the cig in the trash and then crosses his arms. “Come on, you know it’s not good for you.”

I remember the first time he caught me smoking, a couple days into our second month of living together. He had held my hand and cupped my face, and said exactly the same thing. I smile a bit at the memory.

“It’s a stress habit.”

He takes a step forward and rests a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got to stop.”

“I can’t,” I say, looking down at his hand

He lifts my chin. “Try. For me.”

“Alright.” I find I mean it. I’d try, if he wanted me to.

“You want a cup of tea?” he asks, moving back to his seat at the table. I nod dumbly, still feeling his warmth on my shoulder. He points to the counter. “The kettle’s just there. I like Earl Grey, one sugar.”

He shoots me a smirk and it makes me laugh. I set about making a pot for the two of us

“Well, tell me about the last five years then. I expect there’s a lot to catch up on.”