Page 58 of The Deviation

I used to think so. I really did. Now, there’s only one person I want to experience that with. He’s the one person I can’t have. “What about you?” I ask, more than ready to shift the focus away from me. “Have you ever felt that way about someone?”

He scoffs. It’s a bitter sound. “I haven’t had the time for serious relationships.” He looks up at me once more, the clouds clearing from his face. “I’m a master at the hookup, though.”

I let out a short laugh. “How do you do it? Going from meeting someone to being inside their body in the space of an hour?” I make a face of displeasure. “I don’t get the appeal.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Calum says. “And scratch the hour. Try ten minutes. You’d be surprised how much heat can be generated with someone who catches your eye in a dark club.”

“It seems so… impersonal.”

He looks at me, his eyes all soft and a gentle smile curving his lips. “You really are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

My mouth drops open. “I am not.”

“Oh, yes you are.”

I turn away, my cheeks warming. “Yeah, well, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

Calum smirks. “When it comes to you, Johnny, I’m tempted to try everything.”

TWENTY-FOUR

______

CALUM

I pour hot water from the kettle into my World’s Best Manager mug, watching the mini torrent mix with the instant coffee granules at the bottom. Adding a dash of milk, I give it a good stir before dropping the teaspoon in the kitchen sink. A tiny burst of pleasure radiates inside me as I raise the steaming mug, inhaling the cheap but satisfying aroma before taking my first sip.

I suspect this is exactly the scenario Johnny had in mind when he bought me this mug. When he wrapped it so neatly and came to my home to personally place it beneath my Christmas tree. It’s weird to think a novelty mug now counts as one of my prized possessions, but it’s the only physical evidence I have of the feelings we share. It matters.

My toast pops and I finish making breakfast before settling on a stool at the counter to eat while I plan the week ahead. Flipping open the cover of my planner, I go through my upcoming schedule. The Autumn Skies Music Festival is fast approaching. Fifth Circle will be performing in the amphitheatre this year. Mid-afternoon on the second day. It’s a modest spot—the evening slots being saved for headliners like Dante Sinclair—but it’s a decent step up from last year. Even Genevieve seemed pleased with the placement.

Arthur, on the other hand, looked furious when he found out. I know he hates the attention Fifth Circle is getting after he previously declared them unworthy of his time. It doesn’t matter that they had a new singer by the time I found them, or thatthey’d had another two years to develop their sound. All he sees is a band he’d dismissed is now breaking out, and under my guidance instead of his. If we didn’t get along before, I’m pretty sure he hates me now.

The door to Hannah’s bedroom creaks open and I look up to wish her a good morning. Stopping at the end of the hallway, all messy hair and rumpled pyjamas, she glares in my direction. My eyebrows lift in question. It’s too early for me to have done anything to piss her off, and she was fine when I left for work yesterday morning. By the time I got home last night, she’d already left for a date with Oz.

I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong when Oz steps into view behind her. His hair and clothes are also rumpled. But where Hannah is still glaring daggers at me, Oz is sunshine incarnate.

Without a word, Hannah leads him through the living space towards the front door.

“Good morning,” I say, my gaze darting between his smile and her glower.

Oz nods in greeting. “’Morning, Calum.”

I keep my back to them as they say goodbye, pretending not to hear their low murmurings or the quiet sounds of a final kiss.

The front door closes and Hannah enters the kitchen, head high and shoulders stiff, despite the fiery red colour of her cheeks. I fight a grin as she goes about her normal routine of pouring cereal and making tea. Eventually, she sneaks a peek in my direction. Holding her gaze, I take a leisurely sip of coffee.

“Will you please say it and get it over with?” she snaps, gesturing with her spoon as if threatening to gut me.

I clear my throat. “Were you safe?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

The “No” comes through gritted teeth.

“Was he good to you?”