Page 23 of Charlie Sunshine (Close Proximity #2)

NINE

MISHA - ONE WEEK LATER

I put down the stack of paperwork I’m supposed to be concentrating on and swivel my chair to look out of the window. It’s not a particularly inspiring view, consisting mainly of an office block and someone’s conference room.

However, it wouldn’t matter if this morning’s vista included a naked Channing Tatum cleaning the windows.

All I can see is Charlie’s face in the gallery last week, all soft and warm.

I can almost feel his hand on mine as he towed me around, lecturing me on whichever piece of art caught his fancy.

I’ve visited plenty of museums and galleries with Charlie in the past. But Saturday’s visit was different because I spent most of my time observing Charlie—his bright eyes, lush mouth, golden hair—instead of the exhibits and tourists.

I also spent a highly inappropriate amount of time wondering if he was wearing lace knickers.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the images that come every time I let my guard down.

Images of him wearing those knickers, his lean body glowing, his cock rising behind a layer of cherry-red lace .

Harry opened Pandora’s Box that night I’d dumped his case in the corridor, and now I can’t lock my thoughts away.

The knickers are in my bedside table drawer. I should give them back to Charlie or stuff them in his laundry basket while he’s not looking. I need to remove temptation, but I can’t return them until I’ve washed them.

I groan in despair. The first time I wanked over them was entirely accidental.

Okay, not accidental. I didn’t slip and end up with them wrapped around my dick.

But it had started out innocently. I’d been lying in bed, and, after deciding to take care of my hard cock in the usual way, I’d reached for the lube in the drawer.

However, my fingers had encountered lace, and before I knew it, I’d drawn out the knickers.

Sniffing them was probably a bit perverted and wrapping the lace around the length of my dick while I masturbated and thought of my best friend riding me was definitely wrong.

It hadn’t stopped me though, and I came so hard I saw stars.

I snort. Of course, it’s also entirely innocent that I called Charlie’s name at that moment and that I’ve done the same every night since.

“It’s a dry spell,” I say out loud.

I wasn’t joking when I told Charlie I hadn’t shagged anyone while he was gone. My libido has flipped a switch. It’s no longer on the Target Everyone setting, and has been firmly notched onto the Shag Your Best Friend setting, instead.

The last week has been difficult, to say the least. I’ve tried so hard to behave like normal, but fail constantly.

Last night we sat on the sofa having a conversation about a film we wanted to see.

He leaned into me and I inhaled his vanilla scent and my brain went completely offline to the extent that I couldn’t even remember my own name.

It’s happening all the time. I keep looking at his mouth and forgetting my words. It’s full and looks so soft and…

“A dry spell,” I mutter again desperately.

“They say that talking to yourself is a bit of a bad sign,” comes a voice from the door.

I swivel my chair around and find Rupert watching me, a smile tugging at his lips .

“It’s not a bad sign when you consider the standard of conversation around here,” I say quickly. “It’s actually the sensible option.”

He laughs and wanders into the office, throwing himself into the chair opposite my desk.

I eye him. “Can I help you?”

“Why?”

“Well, you spend so long sitting in that chair, the fabric is conforming to the shape of your arse.”

He smiles good-naturedly. “Just checking that we’re still on for tomorrow night?” He groans when I narrow my eyes. “Misha, have you forgotten?”

I snap my fingers. “The club.”

He nods happily. “Eighties night.”

“How smashing,” I say wryly. “Loads of pissed-up people wearing far too much neon and bad music to accompany the experience.”

“And is Bethany still coming?” he asks in a woeful attempt at an offhand manner.

I grin. “Why, Rupert, surely you’re not coming because of her? And here I was thinking that the draw was expensive lukewarm drinks and squeezing yourself into a Frankie Says No T-shirt.”

“Well, obviously that’s a draw,” he huffs.

I laugh, but sober quickly at his next question.

“And Charlie’s coming? I haven’t been to a club with him for y ears. ”

I run my hands through my hair. “He stopped going because late nights and tiredness are triggers for the seizures.”

“So, what’s changed?”

I bite my lip. “He says that he needs to develop a new way of dealing with the epilepsy.” Rupert looks at me enquiringly, and I elaborate.

“Before, when he got diagnosed, he threw himself into being the perfect patient. He cut out everything that could possibly impact him, and according to him, he narrowed his life because of that.” I shrug.

“Apparently, he’s decided to live his life differently because you never know what’s around the corner. ”

“He’s not going mad with it though, is he?” he asks worriedly .

I shake my head. “ No ,” I scoff. “This is Charlie we’re talking about.” I search for the words. “He says he’ll come to the club, but he won’t drink because that’s not good for him. He wants to dance and have a good time, but he’ll only go if he manages to have a nap beforehand.”

“Well, that sounds reasonable. Why are you looking so constipated about it?”

I shake my head. “You know me. Thinking about Charlie’s well-being is a constant state of affairs with me. I can’t just turn it off.”

“And you don’t mind that?”

I stare at him. “Are we somehow playing Twenty Questions and I wasn’t made aware?” He looks at me expectantly, and I shrug. “Of course I don’t mind. Why the hell would I mind? It’s Charlie.”

“Handsome Charlie.” When I narrow my eyes, Rupert rushes on. “I hear he’s looking to date again.”

“Where did you hear that?” I groan. “Bethany?” He nods, and I wave my hand at him. “Come on, then. There’s obviously more. You’re practically bristling with curiosity. Let’s hear the rest of the news alert from the one-woman gossip central of Southwark.”

He runs one finger along my desk’s edge. “Apparently, you were insistent that you were going to help him find a date and yet somehow you’ve failed to come up with anyone suitable. Even in a city this size and with your contact list.”

I roll my eyes. “Perhaps you and Bethany would like to set up a podcast and broadcast the depth of your knowledge to the rest of the world. London’s loss is the world’s gain.”

He laughs. “Come on, why haven’t you found anyone for him? He’s spectacularly good-looking, funny, very clever, and the kindest person I know. This should be a piece of cake, which incidentally he can also make.”

“It’s not that easy. I have been trying.”

“Well, what about Paul?”

I look disdainfully at him. “He has a unibrow.”

He blinks. “Martin, then. He’s lovely and single.”

“He’s single because he’s married to his mother, and she repels all newcomers.”

“Edward Sampson? ”

“Are you serious? He’s boring as hell and so pompous.”

“Okay,” he says triumphantly. “What about Luke? He’s lovely. Bloody hell, if I were gay, I’d date him.”

I scoff. “No. He’s got those… those teeth.”

There’s a long pause as Rupert stares at me and I try not to wriggle. “Hmm, teeth. Tell me, Misha, is having teeth a deal-breaker for Charlie?”

“Take the piss all you like, but when Luke gets close, it looks like he’s going to eat you.”

He watches me, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. His expression is placid, and my attention sharpens. It’s never a reassuring sign with Rupert. For all his affability, he’s very astute.

“Well, how about Misha?” he says.

“Misha, who? We don’t know any other Mishas, and I’m sure that—” I pause. “Oh, very funny.”

He leans forward and taps the desk. “Think about it. He likes old reruns of Blackadder , and so does Charlie. He loves Thai food, and so does Charlie. Misha and Charlie love dancing in clubs and going to the cinema. They’re both laidback and funny.

In fact, I pretty much think they share one mind between two bodies because they’re so alike. ”

“We are nothing alike. He’s got the shininess of a new two-pound coin. I’m far more cynical.”

“You’re alike enough to fill in the gaps with each other. The best partnerships are like that.”

“I don’t think–” I start to say loftily.

He blows a raspberry. “Don’t even go there, Misha Lebedinsky.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was in the same room with you the other day, and I saw the way you were looking at Charlie.”

“Like a great friend,” I say primly.

“No, like a dog eyeing a steak.”

I throw my hands up. “I can’t talk to you when you’re chatting shit.”

“You mean when I’m telling the truth?” He looks at me levelly, unaffected by my slight temper tantrum. I blow out a huge sigh, scrubbing my hands down my face .

“Fuck,” I mutter. He settles back in his chair.

“Okay, I know I’m looking at him like he’s the last twink on the menu, but it’s a momentary madness.

” The words pour out of me with a certain wildness.

“I’ve never looked at Charlie like this.

In all my life he’s been my best friend, and that’s it.

Nothing else. What the fuck is the matter with me? ”

“I personally think it started when you had that row over Harry,” he says, folding his hands over his stomach. “Or maybe back when he started going out with Harry.”

“What?”

“It threw you completely, Misha. You can deny it all you want, but you were off your game for ages when Harry asked him out. Then you had that huge row with Charlie, and you were desperate to talk to him. It made a tiny part of your brain wake up to what it would be like without him.”