by L.H. Cosway
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully.
Afric’s eyes softened, and I bristled. I didn’t need her to feel sorry for me.
She drew in a deep breath and unfolded a napkin before placing it on her lap. “Well, in that case, we should try to find out, because if her feelings aren’t strong enough, then there’s always the danger that she’ll throw a tantrum and out you to your bosses. That’s the last thing we want to happen.”
Just like that, the eggs I ate for breakfast turned sour in my gut. Afric voiced a worry that had been gnawing away at me for months.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. This whole thing was stressing me out.
“Neil Durant, did you just swear?” Afric whispered, her eyes alight with humour.
“How do you know my last name?”
“Michaela mentioned it.”
“Michaela mentions an awful lot.”
“She likes you. Have you ever noticed how alike you both are? You could be twins, the non-identical kind.”
“We’re not that alike,” I countered.
“Yes, you are. You’re both really prim and proper, maybe a little anal retentive, though that’s not a bad thing. I’m the opposite of anal retentive and am currently in the horrible situation of having my accounts audited. The joys of self-employment.” She made a bug-eyed expression and mimicked putting a gun to her head.
I lifted my eyebrows. “You’re being audited?”
“Sadly, yes. I really regret deciding to do my own taxes these last few years. I’m trying to find an accountant with a penchant for masochism to sort things out for me.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “So far, I haven’t had any luck.”
I picked up my coffee and took a sip. I wasn’t an accountant, but I had a head for numbers and was excellent at taxes and personal finance. “I could help you. I’m very good at keeping tidy accounts,” I offered.
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
I nodded. “I can certainly take a look.” I’d blurted the offer, but now that I was thinking about it, this could be a good exchange. Afric was assisting me with Annabelle, and in return, I could organise her accounts.
“Are you certain?” she went on. “Because, believe me, it’s a lot of work.”
“I don’t mind the work,” I said, then cleared my throat. “I’d actually like to make a formal agreement. Just so things are clear.”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Well, helping you with your accounts could be my way of paying you back for your advice on my, um, situation. This way, we’re both getting something out of it.”
She stared at me, the beginnings of a smile shaping her lips. “You’re one of those people who insists on paying back loans as soon as possible, aren’t you? If someone gave you a pound for a cup of coffee, you’d be forcing that pound back into their hand the very next day, right?”
I pursed my lips because she wasn’t wrong. That’s exactly how I was. “Where exactly are you finding cups of coffee in London for a pound?” I shot back, and she smirked.
“Fine. I agree to the exchange. Want to shake on it?”
A part of me would prefer a written contract, but in this case, a handshake would have to suffice. Afric reached across the table, and we shook hands, her soft palm sliding against mine. I was momentarily aware of the sensation of her skin before she let go and asked, “Are you free later today?”
“Um … I’m not sure.”
“Let’s exchange numbers so that I can text you directions to my flat,” she went on, not giving me time to protest. She pulled out her phone and looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to call out my number.
Reluctantly, I recited the digits, and a moment later, my phone buzzed with a text. I opened it and grimaced, then glanced at Afric in annoyance. “Did you just send me a dick pic?”
She chuckled in amusement. “I like to think of it as redistribution. I’m a female streamer, so I get an inordinate number of dick pics sent to me daily. I do the arseholes a favour by sending the pictures to my friends so that we can judge them. I mean, look at that one. It has a bend in it. I wonder if that’s a positive or a negative with the ladies.”
I was certain my face showed my disgruntlement as I swiftly deleted the image from my phone. “Please don’t send me any more of those.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t ask for them.”
At this, she slammed her hands down on the table dramatically. “Well, neither did I!”
Several people from nearby tables cast us curious glances. I looked to Afric and frowned again. Everything about her was so loud and brash that I failed to realise how young she actually was. If she was Michaela’s age, that would make her mid-twenties at most. I had just turned thirty. I needed to be the grown-up here.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. The men who send you those pictures are out of line, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that. Isn’t there any way you can block them?”
“Not really, no,” she answered glumly. “But thank you. I appreciate the sentiment.” She cleared her throat before continuing. “Anyway, you can stop by my flat sometime this week. Whenever suits. I’m normally home in the evenings. We also need to assess how Annabelle feels about you. Do you two ever talk on the phone, or is it always by direct message?”
“We don’t talk on the phone. If we did, she’d easily figure out the truth. I don’t sound anything like Callum.”
“Hmm,” Afric eyed me a moment just as the waitress arrived with her food. She’d ordered waffles with maple syrup, blueberries, bananas, and a plate of bacon on the side. I watched in awe as she immediately dug in.
I’d always found sweet things unappetising in the morning, never mind the mix of sweet and savoury she was currently indulging in. The woman must’ve had a gut of steel. I, on the other hand, inherited IBS from my father’s side of the family, which meant I was always careful about what I ate. I was also intolerant to dairy. The bright side was that I kept a trim, athletic figure and rarely put on weight.
“Afric,” I said, trying to snag her attention. She looked up, chewing on a bite of waffle as she waited for me to continue. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this, are you?” I asked, ducking my chin.
She put down her fork and reached out to touch my hand. The contact was unexpected, and a jolt of awareness went through me. People didn’t touch me very often, which was probably why I was having a visceral reaction to her hand on mine.
“Of course not,” she replied, her expression sincere. “Swear on my own life. We’re friends now, Neil. You can trust me.”
“We are?”
She let go of my hand and picked her fork back up. “Look, I know I can come across a little abrasive at first, but I swear, it’s not intentional.” A pause as she smirked. “Most of the time, I can’t help it, but I think you’re interesting, Neil Durant. You’ve got secrets, the juicy kind, and only the most intriguing people have secrets like that.”
I was a little taken aback by her compliment. I’d never considered myself particularly interesting. “I don’t like having secrets, though. And I really don’t want to be intriguing. I just want to be normal.”
She pointed her fork at me. “Well, it’s lucky you met me. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make Annabelle fall in love with you, and you two will be the most normal couple in the world.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I’d give her a shot. It wasn’t like I had many other options. Besides, there was always a chance that it could work, even if it was a slim one. Afric could turn out to be my very own genie in a bottle, granting me a wish that could make my life normal and boring again.
I returned my attention to my laptop while Afric finished her food. When she was done, she used a napkin to dab her face, placed some money down on the table, then slid out of the booth. I eyed her warily as she approached, reaching out as if to touch me again. I drew back because I wasn’t prepared for the odd zing I’d felt when
she’d put her hand on mine a few minutes ago.
“Relax. Your collar is stuck inside your jumper,” she said, clearly noticing my stiffness. “I was just going to fix it for you.”
I reached up and fixed the collar myself. She shot me a crooked grin. “Do you not like being touched or something?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“You just backed away like I have the plague. I know gamers get a bad rap for hygiene, but I swear I’m clean. I always shower before I leave the flat, at least.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just a little …”
“Stiff? Awkward?” she suggested. “We’re going to need to loosen you up before you meet Annabelle. Women like to be touched, ya know.”
My gut dropped. I just couldn’t imagine meeting Annabelle, seeing the disappointment in her eyes when she took me in. Then, I thought about touching her, and my throat dried up. I was a lying piece of shit, and I definitely didn’t deserve to touch someone as angelic as Annabelle.
“Well, I need to get going,” Afric said, interrupting my thoughts. “Text me if you plan on stopping by my flat this week.”
With that, she left. I stared back at my laptop screen, and it took me a long while to remember what I’d been working on.
4.
Afric
“You need to shut up and let me concentrate,” I complained as I sat in my gaming chair several hours into a livestream.
I was trying to pinpoint where the troll was hiding, and TheBigSix was being way too distracting. The troll was a sneaky little bastard. I planned to clobber him with my truncheon, but he kept hiding behind boulders and rocks. The virtual violence was going to win me a whopping two hundred points.
“I didn’t say anything,” TheBigSix argued.
“You’re talking right now, aren’t ya?” I countered. “And when I said you need to shut up, I meant you’re breathing way too heavily. What’s going on over there anyway?”
Yellowshoes gave a boisterous chuckle in the background while TheBigSix protested, “I’m not up to anything. This is slander.”
“All I’m saying is, none of us can see you. You could be going to town on yourself, and nobody would be any the wiser,” I continued to tease.
“I am not … Ugh. Just kill the troll, will you? I’ve got a frozen pizza in the oven, and it’s going to be ready in five minutes.”
“Fine. But you need to learn how to take a joke.”
The troll peeked his head out from behind a boulder, and I grinned as I muttered to myself, “I’ve got you now, my pretty.” I pulled out my truncheon and swung it high in the air before bringing it down on the troll’s head.
“If we ever meet in person, remind me never to get on your bad side,” Yellowshoes said with a low whistle, her husky American accent in my ears.
I gave an evil laugh. “Only the wise know never to cross me.”
There was a knock on my bedroom door and my flatmate, Sarita, poked her head in. “There’s a man at the door for you. He said his name is Neil.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed in excitement. “Send him in.” Sarita nodded and disappeared.
“Who’s Neil?” Yellowshoes asked.
“Yeah, who’s Neil?” TheBigSix added, sounding a little disgruntled. I suspected he had a crush on me. It wasn’t something he’d ever expressed in words, but we’d been online friends for years, and I just got a certain vibe from him. Like whenever I mentioned going out to find a hook up, he’d get all quiet and grumpy about it.
“Never you mind,” I said before I turned my attention to the camera. “That’ll have to be all for today, everyone. I hope you enjoyed my murderous antics. See you all tomorrow!”
I switched off my stream, shut down my computer, and turned to face the door just as it opened. Neil ran a hand through his dark brown hair and cautiously stepped inside like he was entering a radioactive zone. We really needed to work on his demeanour, loosen him up a little. The man was stiff as a board.
“Hi, your flatmate said to come in.”
“Yes, yes, step inside my lair,” I replied, motioning him farther into the room. “I’m so glad you came.”
I stood and led him to my desk, where several haphazard piles of bank statements and receipts were stacked. I liked to think of it as organised chaos, though really, it was just chaos. He eyed them in a weirdly eager way like he was actually excited by how messy everything was. Oh, yeah, Neil was a neat freak. Evidently, he got a thrill out of organising messes, which was probably a good thing considering his job.
“So, this is what we’re working with,” I said, noticing he still hadn’t looked at me, his eyes on the unruly stacks. “Do you need me to explain anything, or do you want to just get stuck in?”
He began to roll up his shirtsleeves as he pulled out my gaming chair and sat down. Okay, so he had really nice forearms. I filed the information away for later ponderance.
“I’ll get started and will let you know if I have any questions,” Neil replied as he picked up one of my bank statements and scanned it.
“Okay, good. Do you want a cup of tea or coffee? I have a fancy Nespresso machine and a milk frother that makes a mean cappuccino.”
“It’s too late in the day for coffee,” Neil answered. “I’ll take a cup of tea, though.”
“Coming right up,” I said, saluting him as I went out into the combined kitchen slash living area.
Sarita and her girlfriend, Mabel, both sat on the couch watching RuPaul’s Drag Race.
“You bitches! I told you to call me when Drag Race started,” I complained as I went to turn on the kettle.
“It literally just started,” Sarita shot back. “And anyway, you have a guest. Isn’t that the same Neil Michaela works with?”
“Yes. He’s helping me with my accounts.”
“Thank God. I thought you were gonna try to do them yourself again.”
“Hey! I’m not that bad.”
“You wouldn’t be getting audited if you were good, Afric.”
I chewed my lip as I placed a tea bag in a mug then poured in hot water. “Make me feel good about myself, why don’t you,” I said glumly.
Mabel elbowed Sarita in the side, and my flatmate rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry. All I’m saying is, I’m glad he’s helping you. From what Michaela says, the bloke is great at pretty much everything.”
“Here’s hoping,” I said as I went to bring Neil his tea. When I entered the room, I found he’d already started re-organising my bank statements into neat, orderly piles and was going through them one by one. He’d brought his laptop and had it open in front of him as he entered numbers into columns in an excel sheet.
“Your tea, good sir,” I announced as I set it down in front of him.
He barely glanced up as he pointed to an entry on one of my bank statements. “What’s Night Owl Accessories? It’s only come up once so far, and you have it marked down as a business expense.”
My brow furrowed as I eyed the name. I bought something for £150 last September, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was. “I’m not sure. Let me check.” I pulled out my phone and Googled “Night Owl Accessories,” laughing quietly to myself when I saw it was the name of a parent company that owned an online store where I bought some sex toys.
Neil glanced at me, waiting. “Well?”
“Never mind. It’s not a business expense. Just put it under personal.”
“Are you certain? These accounts need to be perfect, Afric. You can’t afford any errors.”
Oh, well. I tried to let him off easy, but he did ask. “If you must know, the purchase was for a dildo and one or two items of a similar ilk.”
Neil
I couldn’t look her in the eye as I returned my attention to the screen of my laptop. I was certain my cheeks were flaming red at this point. Afric’s accounts were a delicious mess, but in the future, I’d just Google items I wasn’t sure about instead of asking her directly. Anything to avoid awkward
moments like this. Then again, she didn’t seem awkward at all. On the contrary, she seemed to enjoy my embarrassment.
“You’re right,” I replied soberly. “That should definitely be under personal drawings.”
I continued transcribing, hoping she’d leave me to it, but instead, she came and leaned against the edge of the desk, arms folded as she studied me.
“Could you turn on some normal lights? All the neon is giving me a headache,” I complained, feeling more uncomfortable the longer she studied me.
“Do you know who you remind me a little of?”
I shrugged, wishing she’d just go and let me work. “I don’t know. Who?”
“Tom Holland.”
“The actor? I don’t see it, but okay.”
“Well, obviously, you’re a bit older than him,” Afric allowed. “But the resemblance is uncanny.” Her lips formed a little smirk.
“Why are you smirking?”
“No reason.”
“There’s obviously a reason,” I stated flatly, getting annoyed now.
“Next time you have a moment, go and look up his performance on Lip Sync Battle. It’s pretty much my favourite thing on the internet.”
“Okay, I’ll do that,” I replied.
“I think it’d be a good Halloween costume idea for you. Anyway, I’ll leave you to it.” Praise Jesus. “I’m going to watch Drag Race with Sarita and Mabel but give a call if you need anything.” Before she left, she turned off her many neon lamps and flicked the switch for the regular ceiling bulb.
I returned my attention to my computer and tried to focus on Afric’s bank statements, but my curiosity got the better of me. I navigated to Youtube and searched for the video she mentioned. Hitting play, I stared wide-eyed as Tom Holland lip synced to Rihanna’s “Umbrella” while wearing a wig, corset and hot pants. There was something oddly entrancing about the whole thing, though it was safe to say I’d never be confident enough to wear that as a Halloween costume.
I realised I’d neglected to turn the volume down when Afric poked her head into the room again. “You’re watching it!” she exclaimed happily.
