When I wake up, my head is cushioned in something soft. I snuggle into it, draw the covers closer to my chest, feel the delicate sequins of my silk dress.

My silk dress.

The party.

Shit, I passed out on the pavement.

So why are the sheets so soft?

Part of my mind tells me not to worry and to just sleep it off but there’s another part that jerks me awake. Something doesn’t quite add up.

I burst into reality, into a single bed with crusty sheets and a soft duvet. The ceiling is grubby and patterned. But when I glance around, I find that I’m not in my own room.

There’s a window on the far side with a curtain half-drawn, letting in a stream light that illuminates the rest of the room. There’s a chest of drawers with multiple frames and pictures above it as well as small things cluttering the top counter. Loose coins, old missing parts from appliances that will probably be never found again. I lean in to try and get a better look at the photos but the door swings open.

I reel back, almost hitting the bed frame.

“Morning,” says Amias. “Glad to see you awake.”

I jump at his voice and watch, silent, as he strides into the room. He comes to a stop at the foot of the bed. I glance at his bare chest, hard and toned. I avert my eyes, cheeks hot. He only raises an eyebrow.

“Good morning to you too,” I say.
My head bursts with confusion. What’s Amias doing here? And where am I? Although this bed is comfy, it certainly isn’t mine. I smooth down the covers to show it my appreciation.

And why is his top off?

“Glad you’re liking the bed. And the view,” Amias says with a smile. “Cost me a lot from IKEA, that did.”

I can only stare at him wide-eyed. “This is yours?”

He nods. “My room.”

I glance round it, seeing it in a new light. Looking back at the photos frames, I begin to recognise him in the pictures.

“You’ve still got to explain things,” I tell him.

“Of course,” he says, wrapping his fingers round the foot frame. I find it difficult not to stare. “I’m Gabe’s flatmate.”

I let that sink in. Now things begin to make more sense. I vaguely remember that the party last night ended up in us going round to Gabe’s. And then I collapsed.

Anything after that I don’t remember.

“I blacked out,” I say thoughtfully.

“You were passed out in the bloody road, that’s what,” Amias replies in a somewhat annoyed tone as though he can’t bear the thought. “Gabe and all his mates were rushing into the house. Disrupted my nice peace, considering I’d only got home. So I went outside. And you were there.” His voice softens. “Poor thing.”

His eyes turn so mushy that I have this urge to yank the pillow from behind my head and throw it at him.
It bunches off his chest and lands with a soft thump on the floor.

“I might have a headache but don’t think that means you can pity me.”

He grins. “Right.” Then he grabs the pillow off the floor and I shield my face with my arms as it comes flying back towards my head.

“Gotcha,” he says, chuckling.

Giggling, I can only scrabble around for the cushion once more. He dodges this time and throws himself onto the bed. I squirm as he wrestles me down, laughter bubbling from my lips until I’m pinned to the bed like a paperweight on a windy day.

His face is close to mine. I can feel his quickened breathing and his tense, clenched muscles. His eyes have the smallest of flecks that would be unrecognisable if not up close. And he smells like cologne.

“Well, this certainly feels nice,” he murmurs. I can feel my cheeks turning hotter by the minute and yet I can’t seem to push him away.

Then, he rolls off me. I sit back, not sure what to feel. More disappointed than anything else since his touch is electrifying and leaves goose bumps on my skin.

“You cold?” he asks as I eye the hairs on my arm standing on end.

“No,” I reply, a little breathless. It’s just the way you make me feel is incredible.

“Under the covers,” he says. “It’ll be warm.”

Something unspoken lies between us.

He’ll be warm.

But I do as he says, and he’s right. But by snuggling into the covers, I’m afraid he might leave.

“Better?” he asks.

“Don’t go,” I burst out before he can say anything else.

He eyes me for a few seconds. Then, slowly, he eases himself under the duvet. It’s terrifying and exciting at the same time. We’re inches apart and yet I’ve never felt so close.

Warmth is radiating out of him like the sun.

“We never finished that conversation,” he says finally.

“What conversation?” I murmur.

His eyes are warm. I can see flecks of gold in them that are reflected from the bright light streaming through the window.

“The phone one.” Then, with a smile, “Macaroni cheese.”

I grin. It’s so out of the blue but so right, that I have to laugh.

“It’s heavenly,” I say.

He doesn’t say anything for a while. He’s only staring at my face with a strange, intent expression.

“Your eyes,” he says, “are heavenly.”

Your hair complimented the greenness of them.

Suddenly I can’t bear it anymore. The warmth escaping from his body is so strong that I find myself slowly leaning in. My lips are starved; I need to feel his touch like that time in the tennis courts once again.

My lips would have brushed his if only there hadn’t been a polite knock at the door.

Amias jerks back suddenly. I do too, with a feeling of regret because the moment is now lost. We were so close.

“Later,” he whispers to me as he cups my chin with his hand. After planting a kiss on my forehead, he slides off the bed and opens the door. I barely register who it is as I’m still reeling from the light touch of his fingertips.

“Yes?” Amias asks the person at the door.

Gabe peers past him into the room, beady eyes scoping things out. When he lays eyes on me, I can only clutch the duvet tighter.

“Well, hello,” Gabe drawls. His eyes glance back to Amias. “You kept her in here?”

Amias nods. “It’d have been unfair to give her the rickety old sofa.”

“You’re going mushy, Mi,” Gabe replies with a sneer. Then he pushes his way into the room and stares at me harder. Turning back to Amias, he goes, “Yep, that’s definitely her.”

Amias looks just as confused as I do. “Of course it’s her,” he says. “It’s Chandy.”

Gabe smiles. “And she was at the tennis courts yesterday morning.”
Amias tenses.

“I saw her as I was leaving,” Gabe continues. “Hiding behind a flower pot.”

Amias gulps. Gabe steps closer to him, pushing his face right up to Amias’.
“You get her stinking little ass out of this room,” he breathes, “and I might consider her living.”

Amias stares back at him, stony-faced. “You kill her, then I kill you.”

I shudder at their low voices. Then there’s a small click, the door has shut, and Gabe has gone.

Silence invades the room.

“What was that about?” I ask. I clutch the duvet tighter than ever before.
Amias turns, sighing. “It doesn’t—”

“No, explain to me what’s been going on!” I snap. “You were threatening each other because of me and I’m right here!”

He gingerly places himself on the foot of the bed. “Yesterday morning you saw something that you shouldn’t have seen.”

I close my eyes. I was never going to be able to avoid this conversation. “You were dealing.”

Slowly, he nods.

My breath hitches in my throat. “So you’re in the drug trade.”

Again, he nods.

“For how long?”

“Since I was twelve.” He smooths down the sheet. “I had no choice. It was either that or be killed or die of starvation.” He pauses. “So I was going to die either way.”

I hotly let out a breath. “I saw you at the police station a few days ago.”

He seems to slump.

“The police had caught Gabe,” he says. “But when they searched him, they found nothing, so we got out safely.” He glances to the door. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. But”—he looks over at me—“you deserve an explanation.”

I raise my eyes to the ceiling. The boy I’ve been feeling for is involved in the drug trade. Kylie was right. If she’s breaking up with Gabe, then the only thing for me to do is to cut ties with him.

But something stops me.

I don’t want to.

“I understand if you never want to speak to me again,” Amias says softly. “I’ll leave you alone if you choose that. But I want you to know, Chandy, that I never asked to be Gabe’s second in command. This job... It gives me money. If I didn’t have it, there would be no food on my plate, no clothes on my back, and I would end up like my family, lying in a wet gutter with my intestines spilling out of me.”

My own stomach clenches.

“I did it to save my own skin,” he continues. “And I still feel bad about it. Even to this day.” He pauses. “So if you want to leave right now, I’m not stopping you. I don’t own you, and I respect you. So the door is wide open.”

I look at him. Really look at him.
I look at his soft hair, his dark skin, his golden eyes, the slope of his nose, the plumpness of his pink lips. I look at everything. And all I see is the boy with the laughing eyes and teasing smile. Is it really true that boy is the monster he thinks he is?

“Stay,” I say softly. “Stay with me for five minutes and then I’ll leave.”

I pull the covers back slowly. He eases himself next to me. Again, I can feel the heat radiating like fire.

I turn to him. Reach out a finger, trace the softness his cheek, the grooves of his face. I find myself wanting to memorise it.

Then I lean forward and make him mine.

It transports me back to the tennis court. The sun playing on my hair is now his hands. The wind is his breath. The tarmac his bed. But his lips are still the same, moulding with mine until I think I’m so full I might burst.

Our legs entangle. I pull him on top of me, running my fingers across his smooth back. I smile as he shudders.

Then he pulls away, arms caging me onto his bed. His eyes are full of longing and desire, and I relish the look as they rove over my face.

He’s fighting something. Eventually, he yanks himself away and falls beside me. I pull the duvet over us both.

“Why were you controlling yourself?” I whisper, pressing myself closer to him. He wraps himself around me, a loving embrace.

“I don’t want to take things too far,” he says. “I don’t want to force myself on you. Controlling myself takes effort, but I can do it.”

“And who says I want you to control yourself?” I breathe.

I feel him smiling as he trails his lips down my shoulder. It sends tingles down my spine.

“I’d lose control for you any day,” he murmurs. “Every time I look at you I have to fight myself.”

And that gives me the warmest feeling in the world.

“I’ll fight a little longer,” he continues, whispering into my hair, “if it means I get to be with you.”

I snuggle into him. He responds by holding me closer. I’m filled with the scent of him.

Cushioned in his arms, I fall asleep.