Part 126 (2/2)
”Quite.”
The amus.e.m.e.nt in his face does nothing to calm the situation. ”If you hadn't freaked me out by being here, I wouldn't have dropped it!”
”Do you like pizza?” he asks.
”What's pizza got to do with anything?”
The man sits on top of the table. ”I'll order some for us. If you'll put up with my company until I can find somewhere else to go.”
I eye him suspiciously. ”You'll leave?”
”Yeah, I can always sleep on the beach.”
I'm not a hundred percent sure if he's serious or not, and I'm still very wary. ”Hang on.”
Rooting around inside my handbag for my phone, I walk away and turn my back, dialling Gran's number.
When she answers, her West Highland terriers are yapping in the background, matching the volume of her television. ”h.e.l.lo?”
”It's Sky. I'm at the beach house and there's someone here saying he's rented the place for a month?” I half-shout.
Man-whose-name-I-don't-know-even-though-he's-seen-my-underwear c.o.c.ks an eyebrow at me.
”Why are you there?” asks Gran.
”You said I could stay for a week.”
”In July.”
”No, now.”
Gran shouts at her dogs, forgetting to take the phone from her ear and I wince at the volume. ”I thought you said July.”
Great, I knew she wasn't listening when I asked. ”I told you about...” I almost remind her about Grant, and then realise I don't want the guy knowing my business. I lower my voice, ”The thing with the thing.”
”Thing?”
”Yes, the thing that's made me want to come here for a week. Remember?”
”You're making no sense, Sky. Have you been drinking?”
So much for escaping everything. ”Has he paid?” I whisper. ”You've got his details? Is he...you know...genuine.”
”I spoke to him myself. He transferred the money straight away and paid over the odds. And yes, I have the usual: drivers licence number, bank details and such. They were definitely him. Bit cagey about giving them to me, maybe he has a mistress he's bringing down, wouldn't be the first time...”
She's burbling; Gran loves red wine as much as I do. Hmm. Paid in full, so definitely not someone she wants me to kick out. ”Oh.”
”I'm sure you'll work something out, sweetie! Listen, I have to go. Monty is eating the curtains.”
As she hangs up, I stare at the phone. Why me?
”And?” he asks with an eyebrow still c.o.c.ked.
”Fine. I'll pack.”
”Where will you go?”
”No idea.”
He looks at me with that look again, curious and amused. ”I won't kick you out into the night. We can stay together for one night?”
I splutter. ”Yeah, right.”
”Is my reputation bothering you?”
”Reputation as a bad driver?”
”No.” Shaking his head a little, the guy holds out a hand. ”I haven't introduced myself. I'm Dylan. Dylan Morgan.”
I stare at his hand, and wonder why he has so many rings on. Big solid silver things. When we shake hands, I'm aware of a weird, but not unpleasant, tingling continuing up my arm and somehow hitching my breath.
”Um. Sky.”
His mouth tilts at one side. ”You're funny. It's refres.h.i.+ng.”
I have no clue whether he's insulting me or not, but for some reason, under his scrutiny, heat creeps across my cheeks. Am I supposed to know who he is, or something?
The curry congeals on the floor next to me, and as if on cue, my stomach rumbles. I cough to try to disguise the sound.
”Pizza,” he says as if forgetting himself. ”You will share a pizza with me? I don't often get to share pizza with funny chicks.”
I scowl, but he's earnest. Do serial killers have a detectable aura? I always thought I was a good judge of character, though that's cast into doubt recently, thanks to Grant wearing a girl on his head. Dylan has a presence. Confident, a little arrogant, but I don't feel unsafe. He's tired, and I think something is dragging him down too. How do I know? I don't, but something in his presence reflects my own state.
What bothers me more than his possible psycho status is how those eyes have brightened since we spoke and how they've disarmed me.
”I think I'll eat a whole one. Meatlovers.” I promise myself I'll eat less chocolate tomorrow.
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