The Complications of T by Bey Deckard Read Free Book Online

acting in a role I was really proud of. It was a bit uncomfortable at first to know that I’d been studied so closely, but soon he had me laughing and nodding along. He knew my strengths and weaknesses almost better than I did.
    Other times we would lie naked on the small roof patio, soaking up the last rays of Indian summer and listening to music on his tiny stereo; turns out that Tim and I had very similar tastes in many things. I’d always scorned people who just fell headlong into relationships, arguing that it couldn’t possibly be real what they felt… But I couldn’t help but think what an incredible match Tim and I made.
    In the end, I stayed with him for only five glorious days before I knew that my tiny vacation away from responsibility had to come to an end. I could only put off my engagements for so long, and Greg was having fits rescheduling my interviews. In fact, there was one in particular that I couldn’t delay any longer; I had to be on a plane back to London by the following evening.
     
    W OTCHA, GUVNAH,” SAID TIM AS he sat down next to me on the couch and passed me a beer. He was still convinced that he could teach me to moderate my drinking and that limiting myself to one beer a day didn’t mean I was going to suddenly wind up spewing loads of rubbish for the camera before passing out drunk behind a potted fern at a gala dinner. I wasn’t convinced, but it was nice to have a “cold one” while watching a movie. At least for the time being.
    “How’s it going, eh?” I replied.
    “That is the worst Canadian accent I’ve ever heard.”
    “I won’t even comment on your butchering of the Queen’s English.”
    We grinned at each other and then took a swig from our beers. However, a moment later a shadow of something in Tim’s expression wormed its way into the mood, and I reached for his hand. I looked down at his hand in mine—his skin was fair, pale compared to the almost Mediterranean cast of my complexion, and his fingers were smaller and less rough looking than mine. I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles.
    A deep breath. Now or never.
    “Come with me,” I said, lifting my eyes to his.
    “To London?”
    I nodded. Tim didn’t reply right away. Instead, he tilted the beer bottle to his lips, and I watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed. He knew I didn’t mean a simple holiday.
    “And Claire?” When he finally spoke, his tone was restrained.
    “Claire gets her divorce.”
    He frowned and contemplated the dark-brown bottle he held in his other hand. I didn’t like the way his posture had gone wooden, as if he was steeling himself against something.
    “Stu… You know I can’t.”
    “And why the bloody hell not?” I squeezed his hand, but it had gone limp in mine.
    “For a million fucking reasons,” he said. “Don’t be so fucking stupid.”
    He sounded angry, and all I wanted to do was crush him against me, but I didn’t want him to push me away. Maybe I was being stupid, but I didn’t want to leave this, whatever it was, and just go back to being me. Alone .
    No, it was more than that. I didn’t want to be without him .
    “Sorry,” he muttered. My feelings must have been written plain on my face because he sighed and planted a chaste kiss on my lips. “Just… Think for a second what that would mean for you. For your career. For your life. How do you think bringing me into the picture, even in the guise of ‘just a friend’, is going to look to the media? Our relationship is going to gossiped about and dissected by anyone with a keyboard and half a brain. And what about me? My life… I’ve spent a long time trying to secure my privacy so I can shield myself from all the shitty fucking things that people will say abou—” Tim’s voice broke then, and he covered his eyes. When I pulled his hand away, his face was wet with tears.
    “Tim… god, I didn’t mean for this to turn into…” I didn’t know what to say. My heart hurt just watching the