The Gentleman Has Left the Building Read Free

rolled over
and rubbed my cheek against the pillow, the way cats nuzzle random
people’s legs. “Not really.”
    “You could
bring Harper,” she chirped. “I want to introduce you to someone,
anyway.”
    Oh shit. Oh no.
My little sister could not have escaped the purgatory of rejection
before I had. I was way more suave than her (which wasn’t hard,
actually. But don’t tell her I said that).
    “Have you
become a lesbian?” I said, hopefully.
    “I won’t lie.
It was appealing for a while. But…no. Erm. D’you remember my friend
Linc?”
    “Gay vampires
Linc?”
    She giggled.
“Yep.”
    Nearly a year
ago now, Bailey’s YouTube star friends did some storyboards for the
advertising agency. In the end, we didn’t pick the pitch up, but
they’d come in to present them: a stocky, obnoxious beast called
Olly and his evidently embarrassed mate. I was relieved that Bailey
had picked the quieter half of the duo, but…she’d barely been
single a few weeks and frankly, this was not fair.
    I tried to work
out how to sound happy for her. No, wait--I was happy for
her. But also jealous, and it clawed at me like a raging beast.
Some big brother I was.
    “So it’s
definitely over with Craig?” I asked.
    Another awkward
gulp on her end. “Definitely. Rhys…it was like what happened with
you and Kate. He admitted it. He‘d been seeing her for months.”
    I preferred not
to think about Kate at all. She didn't deserve it. “Oh. Bastard," I
said quickly. "You’re well shot of him. Do you need me to kick-box
his ass?”
    “If you catch
him in the street, I wouldn’t have any strong objections.
Listen--got to go. We’re going to see some weird manga film at the
cinema with Olly and Chan.”
    “You have fun
now.”
    “I will.” She
made a faux-kissing noise. “I’ll see you next Sunday, yeah?”
    “Yep. I promise
to be more awake, too.”
    There was a
deep, male voice in the background as Bailey hung up, and a kissing
noise that was disturbingly non-faux.
    This was not
the way I wanted to wake up.
    When I
staggered into the living area, Harper was curled up on the leather
sofa with her laptop while a music channel hummed in the
background. She was wearing the little work-out clothes that I
always secretly perv over (shorts that cling to a girl’s arse as if
they’ve been sprayed on by a legion of adoring pygmies) but my
vision was still too blurry to make out any chance flashes of
nipple.
    “You’re
conscious,” she said, not looking up. “I’ve got a bone to pick with
you, Rhys Frost.”
    “Can it wait
until I’ve ingested half a box of paracetamol?”
    “No.” The
laptop closed with a foreboding click. “Since when do you and
Nathan go out drinking together?”
    “Since…?” I
straightened, remembering. “Oh. That.”
    It was true; we
weren’t exactly bar buddies. Last night, he’d been out with someone
else from work. One thing lead to another, and we were soon
wandering the streets of London together while I told him…
    …Embarrassing
stories about Harper. Fuck. Come to think of it, he’d wanted to
know quite a lot about her. He was quite possibly plugging me for
info (but he did it with beer, so hey…can’t hold it against the
guy).
    “So there was a
good reason for him being in our kitchen at one in the morning?”
she went on.
    Oh. That.
    “He wanted to
see the flat,” I said feebly.
    “And you
couldn’t have warned me?” she squealed. “I was almost naked! He
could’ve caught me doing anything--”
    “But you were
saying how much you liked him. It didn’t…it didn’t cross my mind
that you wouldn’t want to see him. Sorry, dude.” My hand hovered
over the sink. “Wait. You didn’t…fucking hell. Did you sleep with
Nathan?”
    Harper blew her
fringe up, her arms folded beneath her breasts. “No. Funnily
enough, he asked the same thing about you.”
    “He wanted to
know if I’d slept with him…?”
    “If you and me
were sleeping together, dickhead.” She sighed.