He glanced over at me as we started up the second flight of stairs. “I collected a startling amount of phone numbers during my cat walking.”
I found myself laughing. “My best friend loves animals. She would totally have given you her phone number.” Even though we were discouraged to date, especially humans, most of us still did it.
We may have been angels, but we were far from angelic.
“What about you? Would you have given me yours?”
I flicked my attention to his face, catching the barest hint of red streaking his cheekbones and nose. “To score a playdate with your cats?”
He ran a hand through his bangs, his blush deepening. “Or with me?”
My heart swooped as we reached Emmy’s landing, and not from the physical exertion. “Honestly? No. I wouldn’t have given you my number.”
His blush dissipated, and the sparkle in his eyes blunted.
“But only because I don’t give my phone number out to strangers, not even to handsome ones with a penchant for cat-strolls.”
The sparkle was back. “Smart.”
“Did you end up calling any of the girls?”
He pushed open Emmy’s door and gestured for me to go in ahead of him. “I had a girlfriend back then, so no. But I’ve kept all the numbers.”
Unlike the dim shoebox I was renting, Emmy’s apartment was a bright rectangle with tall ceilings, crown moldings, an exposed brick wall painted white and inset with a modern kitchen, all glass laminate and stainless steel. On one end, two large windows overlooked a balcony, on the other hung a heavy cream velvet curtain, drawn from one wall to the other.
I twirled, taking in the recessed ceiling lights, the row of small glass chandeliers over the narrow but long kitchen island, the framed, flat-screen TV displaying legendary paintings, and the burgundy U-shaped couch. “This place is stunning.”
“Emmy decorated it herself. She’s studying interior design.” He tossed his brown leather jacket on a wall peg shaped like deer antlers.
“She’s got the talent for it.”
“What are you studying?”
“This place.” I turned back toward him. “And now, you.”
He chuckled. “I meant in school.” He was back to rubbing the side of his neck, my dark stare apparently making him nervous.
“I studied a little bit of everything, but sociology and martial arts were my favorite.”
He looked me over, probably on the hunt for bulging muscles, of which I had none. At least, not bulging ones.
“I’m deceptively strong.” I set my bag on the island and flexed my biceps.
Another grin brightened his eyes as he made his way to the stainless-steel fridge. “A good thing to be in this world. Especially as a woman.”
Even though violence wasn’t on the rise, it was also not decreasing. Which was why I planned on doing something about it while I still could. Who knew what the world would look like in a century? I could only hope it would be better, safer, but as long as humans were ruled by greed and envy, violence would endure.
“Ever take self-defense classes, Grayson?”
He set a carton of eggs and an armful of colorful vegetables down on the island. “No, but I lift a lot.”
I assumed weights, and after a quick perusal of his biceps, I deduced my assumption was correct. “So boring.”
“Not if you listen to what I listen to.”
“What do you listen to?”
“True-crime podcasts. Some of the accounts are chilling.”
Interest piqued, I perched on one of the bar stools. “I was thinking of getting into those. Do any of them report on local crimes?”
“A few. The Big Ben Bang is a great one.” The knobs of his spine pressed into his T-shirt as he rooted around the fridge for more ingredients. “You can also check out the High Tea Ladies. They’re a fun bunch.”
As I looked both up on my phone and scrolled through the episodes, Grayson selected a chef’s knife from a magnetic strip on the wall and began chopping all the vegetables into bite-sized pieces, the steady thwack the only sound in the apartment. He scraped his veggies into a large metal bowl, then tossed three garlic cloves onto the chopping board and smashed them with the flat side of the blade before breaking the eggs into another bowl and whisking the life out of them, which did really nice things to his arms.
I planted my elbows on the island and cradled my chin. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“Self-taught. Mum was a pediatric nurse in a cancer ward until she met Emmy’s father. She worked ungodly hours, so it was either eat toast with Marmite at every single meal, or get creative. I went with option two.” He lit a burner under a pan and swirled olive oil, then slid the garlic inside, followed by the rest of the veggies. Once everything was golden and smelled mouth-wateringly delicious, he showered the vegetables with cracked pepper and poured in the beaten eggs that sputtered and hissed as they settled around the colorful cubes in a pale web. “You wouldn’t imagine how happy she was to come home to a hot meal.”
My heart gave a little pitter-patter. “Do you have any flaws?”
The wooden spatula he’d been using to lift the edges of the omelet clattered against the pan. He caught it before it teetered off the countertop. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“All his teeth are crooked, because he suffers from severe dentist-phobia.” Emmy planted a hand on her hip. “Care to enlighten me why you’re giving my new tenant a cooking show?”
Someone had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. “Good morning, Emmy.”
“More like, crap morning. Seriously, why is she sitting in my kitchen?”
“Be nice,” Grayson mumbled.
“Why should I be nice to her? She’s the reason he’s gone.”
Was I? Had Adam left London to escape me and my request to join his team?
Grayson’s expression darkened. “Because Naya isn’t to blame for your wanker ex leaving you.”
“She arrives. They chat. And then two minutes later, he tells me we’re not going to work out because he can’t introduce me to his fucking family?” Her tapered gaze vaulted toward me. “Whom she apparently knows.”
“I know Adam’s fathers because one of them is best friends with mine. That’s all.”
“Fathers? He has multiple?”
Adam really hadn’t been forthcoming about his heritage. “Just two.”
“What about a mother?”
“He obviously had one but was raised by his fathers.”
Emmy flung out an arm toward me. “See what I’m saying, Gray?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Adam and I were together for two bloody months, and I had no clue he was raised by gay dads.”
“So?”
“So, we were together for two months. That’s the sort of thing I should’ve known.”
“He wasn’t exactly an open book, Em.”
“I lived with him.”
“You told me he lived out of a bag.”
Emmy’s eyes flashed with something I couldn’t put my finger on. Anger? Or was it frustration at the reminder of how casual their relationship had been?
“Besides, two months isn’t all that long,” Grayson added.