Page 1 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

Chapter

One

It’s not you, it’s me

Oz

“Oh my God, Oz. Shit. Baby, it’s not you, it’s me.”

I stare at my boyfriend of six weeks who is currently dick deep in a strange man’s arse on our bed. The sight of the white and grey striped sheets that I’d painstakingly picked out last week makes me incredibly want to laugh.

“I sort of guessed that,” I say faintly. “Seeing as my penis is safely at home in my jeans while yours is roaming free.” I cast him an acerbic look. “Like a very small wildebeest.” I hold up my fingers and narrow the gap between them. “Tiny, really. Minute.”

“Wait. Are you saying I’ve got a small cock?”

I shake my head. “Out of everything to do with our current situation, that is what you’re focusing on, James.”

I turn away from the bed and make my way over to the huge walk-in dressing room. Time to move on again . I cast a look around at the room that smells of sandalwood with its light oak shelves and the neat rows of clothes. I think I might miss this more than him.

There’s a disturbance on the bed behind me and I wince as I hear the squelching noise as my boyfriend evacuates the arse he’s found a home in today.

I don’t need to hear the muttered complaint from the other man to know that he’s dismounted as gracelessly as he usually climbs on.

My arse clenches in sympathy. Been there, done that.

Footsteps thud behind me and I turn to face my now ex-boyfriend. That’s current to ex in forty minutes, which was how long it took me to realise that I’d left my wallet in my jacket and come home unexpectedly. Things move quickly in Oz Land.

“Was he waiting in the cupboard?” I ask. I shake my head as he opens his mouth to interrupt me as normal. “I mean, that was quick work. Me first thing, quick shower, and then where did you find this one?” I look at the small blond man climbing back into his clothes quickly.

“He’s my new assistant,” James mutters, pushing his hand through his hair.

I laugh. “ Really ?” He glares at me as my laughter continues. I pause and clutch my ribs. “How bloody clichéd and yet how utterly you.” I shake my head. “Still, it’s a relief. The speed you moved this one into our bed, I’d imagined you clubbing him on the head in the lobby.”

He folds his arms over his chest, attempting to look dignified, but it must be difficult with half a cockstand and a wrinkled condom clinging to it.

“Well, I didn’t have to do that with you, did I?

You fell into my bed quickly enough. One look at the Belgravia postcode and you had your legs open quicker than I could get my cock out. ”

Oh, great. I sense we’re moving into the insult Oz stage of the proceedings . I straighten up to my full height which unfortunately is only five feet six, but believe me, I work those feet and inches.

“Well, of course it would have to have been the postcode because really, James, this location does bloody wonders for your personality.” I tap my teeth with my nail.

“Makes you almost interesting. Almost ,” I throw over my shoulder as I grab my suitcase and battered rucksack from the floor behind one of the cupboards.

I should have seen the writing on the wall when he asked me to move in with him and then proceeded to try and act as if he was living with the invisible man.

All my belongings stuffed out of sight. The only place he was okay with me spreading out was in his bed.

Even then, everything was his. I’d known it was a mistake, but at the time I thought I liked him.

I’d paid attention to the way he held me at night and ignored the way he’d dropped my hand as soon as we stepped out of the flat.

“What are you doing?” he demands as I rifle through the clothes in my bag.

“Just checking I’ve got everything,” I mutter. I click my fingers and move over to the wash basket. Upending the clothes all over the floor and enjoying his wince of discomfort, I sort through the laundry and, grabbing my stuff, I throw it into a carrier bag. Classy to the end .

I stride over to the marble bathroom and start to grab my toiletries.

He moves towards me and I wave my hand at his now flaccid cock.

“James, take that fucking condom off. You look like a complete twat.” He stares down at his cock as if forgetting he was wearing it.

I shake my head. “So tight with your cash. You were probably hoping to get a second chance at using it. Or maybe it’s the one you used with me and you wrung it out and went for it again. ”

The flare in his eyes tells me I’m not that wrong, and inwardly I want to beat myself round the head.

Why did I move in with him? Why did I even move past the first night hook-up with him?

It had been hot but there’d been nothing else there.

I sigh. I think I was bored and he was good at sex at first. That had deteriorated pretty fast though once he’d had me.

I’d been flattered when he moved me in after three weeks but I needn’t have bothered, because all I’d done was saddle myself with an educated idiot with poor impulse control.

And no sense of humour, I remind myself.

I straighten my shoulders. Not again. I’m not doing this again . There won’t be any more attempts at relationships. I’ve obviously got the picking ability of Britney Spears. From now on I’m hook-up central and nothing more.

But first I have to finish this. I watch as he removes the condom and flushes it. I think of giving him another lecture on the environment but shake my head. Shallow as it is, my concern for the world doesn’t extend to me spending any more time with this man than necessary.

I grab my shaving kit and walk out of the bathroom to stuff it into my bag. When I look up, he’s thrown on a dressing gown and has a large judgey frown on his face.

“Oz, this is ridiculous. It’s beyond me how you can be flouncing around here like a fucking diva with hurt feelings.”

Flouncing, I mouth, and shake my head. “My feelings aren’t hurt. My eyes need a good bleaching after the sight I’ve just witnessed, but my feelings are absolutely fine and hurt-free.”

“Really?” he scoffs. “You can say that, but we both know the truth. You thought your arse had got me so love-struck I’d have no need for anyone else.”

I shrug, knowing it pisses him off. He thinks it’s lazy communication. I say it stops me eviscerating him with my words. I pause to imagine actually eviscerating him, but I can’t make it mean enough to warrant the clean-up.

He frowns. “I don’t know why I expected you to understand, anyway. We’re from two different worlds.”

“Is mine the one with morals?” I ask lightly, and he huffs crossly.

“ Social worlds,” he stresses as if I have some sort of learning impediment.

“You and I are from two very different classes, Oz. You’re so very working class.

It’s written all over you with your accent and your clothes.

” He shrugs and his expression turns cruel.

“You’re very pretty, but it was a bit like having a little pet for a while.

Just not one I’d keep forever. I thought I’d made that very clear to you.

You were only here for a convenient fuck. ”

He shrugs off his dressing gown and starts to dress as I watch him.

When he’s finished, he grabs a case that I hadn’t noticed and starts to wheel it out.

“I forgot to tell you. I’ve got to go to New Zealand for a month.

That should give you the time to clear your pathetic belongings away. ” He smirks. “And find another job.”

Yes, you heard right. Did I forget to mention that James is also my boss? I’ve been his assistant for six months. I think that might make me an idiot.

He grabs his coat and, tapping his phone, he smiles. “My car’s waiting to take me to the airport. I’ll leave you to pack. Leave your key on the coffee table, pet. Have a nice life.” He looks me up and down. “If you can manage it with such a disadvantaged start.”

I watch him until the door clicks shut. Then I smile. “The trouble with keeping pets,” I say softly, “is that sometimes they bite.”

Checking my mobile for the right number, I grab his landline and punch some digits in.

Pausing until I hear the dulcet tones of a woman announcing the time in France, I gently lower the handset to the table.

The sound of the woman sending James’s phone bill soaring is my soundtrack as I go into the kitchen and remove all the fish from his freezer.

There’s a lot because he’s always banging on about the benefits of a healthy diet.

I place these over the worksurfaces until you can hardly see the granite counter and the rest over the radiators in the flat.

My final act is to turn the heating up to full.

That should guarantee him a lovely aroma when he comes back in a few weeks.

I lay my keys gently on the coffee table and, grabbing my case, I walk to the door. Opening it, I look happily round at my handiwork. “Woof,” I say softly, and close the door.

An hour later I drop into a chair opposite my best friend, Shaun.

His long hair is pulled back into a ponytail and he’s wearing a Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt and ripped jeans.

He’s a roadie and has a never-ending supply of band shirts.

He puts his pint down and looks at my bags.

A worried look comes into his warm brown eyes. “Shit,” he says.

I laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Is there another way?”

I shrug. “I am now jobless and homeless, so no.”

An indignant look crosses his scruffy face. “That fuckwit chucked you out? He only moved you in a few weeks ago.” I smile at him, but he carries on obliviously. “I mean you can get on a person’s last nerve, Ozzy, but twenty-one days must be a new record.”