Freeman by Clare London

Author:Clare London [London, Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Romance, Erotica, Gay, Fiction
ISBN: 9781608200047
Google: pTxbXgHoQsQC
Amazon: B0026L5LKA
Publisher: MLR Press
Published: 2009-03-29T11:00:00+00:00

attractions. Then there was a fax confirmation sheet with half of a bank statement showing, the paper crumpled as if it had been picked out of a bin and smoothed out. I turned it over and found on the back a scribbled phone number, a number I knew to be a credit search agency. It looked like Kit's writing - I recognised it, because a couple of times when I’d been out, he’d pushed a note under my door. I still had those notes among my papers.

I pushed everything carefully to one side and found a photo underneath, lying on top of one of his shirts. It was a group shot - just for a second, it felt as if I were trespassing into a family's life rather than just looking at a picture of what was obviously a mother and two sons. The younger of the boys was so clearly Kit, although it wasn't a recent photo. He was shorter and not as slim: over the last couple of years he'd grown up in many ways. But the eyes and the smile were the same.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The sharp voice behind me made me jump. I turned around slowly. The feeling of relief was so vivid that it raised goose bumps on my arms. Kit was in the doorway, dressed in nothing but loose sweat pants. His hair was matted on one side as if he'd slept heavily on it, and there were crease marks on his belly. He scratched absentmindedly at them.

He was angry, too.

"That's my stuff, Freeman. Who the fuck said you could go through it like some private snoop?"

I moved away from the bag a foot or so, but I didn't get up from the bed. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd... left. I thought there may be some information here I needed to know." "Yeah, right," he snapped. He walked over to the bed, bare feet padding over the hessian rug on the floor, and he snatched the bag away. "I'm fine. I kept falling asleep on that fucking couch and it was easier to get comfortable there than come back in here." He dropped the bag on the floor at the far side of the bed, out of my sight. As he passed me, I smelled the soft warmth that skin has when its owner has been in a deep sleep.

"Where were you?" he asked, belligerently. "I left supper for you. It'll be spoiled now."

"You've eaten?" He shrugged. "Some." He ran a hand through his hair and winced as he tugged some of it back to lie properly. "Still pretty tired, though." He yawned on cue; his anger seemed to have faded. "You want to heat up the food? You do that sometimes when you come in late."

"Yes, I do." I wanted to smile for all sorts of reasons, some of them not sensible. "But I'd rather you talked to me."

He frowned, puzzled. "About the scene at G's? What else?"

"No. About you. About your family.

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