Page 166 of Oleander

“Stop apologising for it,” he said sharply before saying he was going to take a shower.

We made a dinner of halloumi, couscous stuffed peppers, and salad, and ate it with a bottle of rosé wine.

He hadn’t mentioned last night while we cooked, hadn’t even indicated he remembered it, but something in the way he avoided touching me or making eye contact as we moved around the kitchen, told me that he did. My own nerves were frayed from trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. I’d not stopped thinking about it all day: of how softly he’d whispered that hemissed me, of how close he’d been to kissing me, of how he thought more than he should about the night in Oxford.

We’d been eating dinner in a taut silence when the thin string of my patience snapped. I couldn’t take it any longer.

“Can we ta—” I started.

“So, have y—” he began at the same time.

“No, it’s fine, you go,” I said.

“I was just going to ask if you’d heard from Luke,” he said.

I blinked at him. “What?”

He lifted his eyes from his plate. “You said he was thinking about coming over.”

“Um...No. I haven’t spoken to Luke.”

“Okay,” he said. “What were you going to say?”

“Forget it.”

His expression flickered, and he went back to eating. After a few moments, he said, “Are you looking forward to going back to uni?”

I dropped my fork onto my plate and scrubbed a hand over my mouth. Beside me, Cas flinched.

“Seriously? You’re asking me about uni right now?”

He looked lost. “We haven’t really talked about it. I was just curious about whether you were enjoying it.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “I don’t know how you do it, Cas, I honestly don’t.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re exactly the same as you’ve always been. This is all just another bloody act: this version of you.” I waved in his general direction. “The one cooking me dinner, asking me things like you care about the answers, telling me you miss me. Who are you with him? Which version does he get? I’m curious.”

Carefully, he set his cutlery down and picked up his napkin to wipe his mouth. “I’m not sure why you’re being like this; it was just a question. You’ve wanted to go to Oxford for as long as I’ve known you, Jude; I wondered if it was everything you hoped it would be. That’s all.”

“Sure. That’s all.” I lifted my wine glass and drained it before reaching for the bottle.

“Is it not going well?” He looked almost worried about me. “Are you doing alright there?”

“I stopped seeing Finn by the way. I fucked my film studies professor instead.”

Sparks ofsomethingflared in the ice blue of his eyes. Thrilled, I went on.

“He came to Jersey for the summer to write a screenplay, and we spent it together. It was perfect. Actually,he’sperfect. He asked me to go to New York with him. I’ll probably go over at Christmas,” I lied.

“I’m pretty sure professors don’t fuck their students during the summer holidays,” he said. “So excuse me if the wordperfectfeels like a bit of a contradiction.”

“He was my ex-professor when we fucked.” The term sounded absurd then. “And he was a guest.”

“Oh, well, that makes all the difference.” His tone was unpleasant as he lifted his wine. “I’m sure the Oxford University Council will see it exactly like that.”

I felt anger surge in my chest at the implication, followed by a distinct note of fear. “Remind me what age you were when you met that famous celebrity lawyer of yours, again?” I snapped. Cas sipped his wine but said nothing. “Nathan’s one of the best people I’ve ever met – a million miles away from that fucking pervert you ran off with, so you can piss off with your threats and snide remarks.”