Page 100 of If We Were Young

He shrugged, his fingers lifting and brushing across my cheek. “My dad’s a good man, Ronnie. He worked hard, too hard.”

“That still doesn’t explain how Supersaver Foods ended up being owned by Julie’s dad.”

Oh God. The words weren’t even out of my mouth before it all started to make sense. “Oh, Matthew.”

His head dropped and he rested it into the crook of my neck. His breath licked across my skin. My palm fitted against his cheek, perfectly so.

“So now you want to save what’s in that photograph?” I pointed over his shoulder to the image surrounded by black gloss.

“I feel like I’ve given up too much not to try.” His answer jangled a bell at the back of my brain, but I became sidetracked by his insane stomach.

“I can help. I get it now. Fred and I can really create something that will convince the administrators that Supersavers belongs on the high street.”

I tilted my head, trying to keep my gaze level on his face and not down on the slippy slidy to absville.

“Ugh, Fred.” His lips curled against my neck though.

“Ugh, Fred? Don’t be rude.”

“The guy fancies you and you swan around past him in those silly skirts like you have no idea.”

“Ah-ha! Which brings me to something I was just thinking about. How come at uni, you looked like that.” I jabbed a finger at the glass of the picture frame. “But no other girl came near you?”

“Maybe they did. Maybe you just didn’t know?” He scrunched his face as soon as the words left his mouth. I almost gagged, it was so unlike him, even thinking it made me sick. He pulled back and his warm face left a cool spot on my throat. “Maybe I just told them all I was already spoken for.”

He wasn’t talking about Julie.

My soul told me that.

“Shame you never told me.”

He opened his mouth, the frown I hadn’t seen in a while creased in between his brows. I wanted to press my thumb against it and blot it away.

A phone rang.

“Oh, that’s mine,” I said, not wanting to break out of his grasp, but it could be Hannah.

The bolt of reality hit me hard in the stomach.

Hannah. I had to go home to her. I couldn’t stay in the house with the purple walls. I was supposed to be somewhere else, doing something else.

The phone had rung off by the time I got to it, but Ange’s name flashed on the screen. “It’s Angela.” I said, waving the phone at him. He pulled a bit of a face and then turned back for the kitchen, hopefully to finish making the tea. I was as dehydrated as a wrinkled old orange.

I hit dial and I trailed back after him, unable to keep myself further than a couple of metres away. If this didn’t end well, it would become a major problem, a stalking problem.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Just checking you’re still alive,” she drawled with a deep drag of nicotine.

“I’m alive.”

“How’s miserable Matthew?”

I glanced over at his curved back muscles. He really should put a shirt on. No, wait a minute, what was I thinking?

“He’s okay. Not miserable.” He glanced over his shoulder and raised his eyebrow at me, a smirk teasing across his lips.

“Well that’s not true; he’s always tortured and miserable.” Ange puffed air down the line.