Page 73 of Almost Ours

“I don’t know!”

We’re frozen in time. Wrapped in silence except the rush of blood in my ears and panting from both of us. Then another scraping sound comes from above, followed by a frantic burst of wings. Josh’s arm tightens around me as something grey drops past the glass, and I scream again before the shape rights itself in the air and flaps unevenly across the courtyard.

We both watch it go.

It was a pigeon.

I’m still gripping Josh’s jacket when he slowly looks down at me, his chest rising hard beneath my hand from the sprint across the pavement, and the expression on his face is so blank that I think he might actually be traumatised by birds.

“It was a pigeon,” I breathe, feeling like I’ve entered some kind of simulation where all birds are out to get me.

Josh’s green eyes are intently on me. “Jesus, Ruby. What the hell did you do to piss off so many birds?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “This stuff only started happening to me when I met you.”

Chapter Eighteen

Sunday

October 24th 2015

Joshua:

There haven’t been many times in my life since James killed himself where I’ve woken up and felt alright. Most mornings are rough. They start rough and stay that way.

The feeling usually arrives as soon as my thoughts knit themselves together and I remember where I am, who I am, and who isn’t here anymore.

This morning is different.

There’s a girl with her back pressed against my chest, and the faint smell of her flowery shampoo is the first thing I notice, strands of her hair brushing my chin. I blink my eyes open to sunlight pushing through unfamiliar blue curtains before my gaze drops.

I’m spooning Ruby.

What the actual fuck am I doing?

I should not be cuddling a girl I barely know. This isn’t normal for me. Cuddling is girlfriend territory, and Ruby is not my girlfriend. She isn’t going to be my girlfriend. Whatever this thing between us is, it is not that.

I’m not even someone who likes being touched. Most of the time, contact makes me feel trapped in my own skin. I tolerate handshakes, hugs if I have to, people clapping me on the back if needed, but this is different.

I like this.

I like having her tucked against me, the weight of her body fitted into mine, the rise and fall of her breathing beneath my arm. I like the way her hair smells. I like the bare strip of skin where her T-shirt has ridden up above the waistband of her pyjama bottoms.

Which is unlucky as fuck, because now all I want to do is touch more of her.

My hand is resting against her stomach, and I have an insane urge to move it lower, then higher, then everywhere in between. I want to know what she feels like beneath my hands when neither of us is half asleep. I want to know what noises she makes when she isn’t laughing at me.

I want—shit. My dick is hard.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Have you stuck something in your trousers,” Ruby suddenly mumbles, her voice thick with sleep, “or are you just happy to see me?”

Every muscle in my body locks. My face burns. “It’s morning wood.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah.”