Thief of Hearts
Page 11
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“I’ve been looking into getting a place of my own, but everywhere in London’s so bloody pricey. And it’s a pain in the arse trying to find work when you’ve got a record. Lee has his own restaurant, and he’s offered me a job doing the books, but I dunno, feels like charity.”
I was surprised to hear his brother owned a restaurant, especially given Stu’s criminal history. Usually, crime ran in families, but not always. “The books?” I asked, impressed, especially considering my suspicions about his reading and writing. Perhaps things weren’t as bad as I thought. “Have you done accounting work before?”
He took the final drag of his smoke then stubbed it out with the toe of his boot. Sending me an arch look, he replied, “Sure, none of it technically legal though.”
Realisation hit me. So, by “the books” he meant cooking the books. I really hoped his brother’s restaurant wasn’t a front business for something more sinister. Stu must have read my mind because he went on, “Lee’s place is all above board. He’s given up the old life.”
“Ah, I see. And you?”
“What about me?”
“Have you given up the old life, too?”
It took him a few beats to answer. “Course I have.”
I wasn’t too sure I believed him. Stu let out a low chuckle. “You’ve got a very expressive face, Andrea. Like a fucking billboard.”
I pursed my lips at his persistent use of profanity and my first name. It felt like a losing battle. Still, his statement made me self-conscious as I glanced away. Was I really that transparent?
“You don’t believe I’ve given up thieving, and that’s okay. You’re right to be leery of me. I mean, look at me. If ever there was a shifty-looking geezer, it’s me. But listen, even if I wanted to get back into that racket, where would I find the time? I have to have perfect attendance on this course as part of my parole.”
“There are plenty of hours in the evening to be getting up to no good,” I said, placing my hands on my hips. Stu’s eyes glinted and a smirk shaped his hips. The innuendo in my statement hit me right after I said it.
“There sure are, Andrea,” he said, taking a step toward me. His eyes traced my form as his voice lowered a notch. “There sure are.”
I tugged on my shirt collar, warmth suffusing my cheeks. How could a man’s gaze seem so carnal, as if he was defiling me with just a look? Even worse, why did it both thrill and terrify me?
Five
Most of my students had gathered in the reception area to borrow their chosen books. Had thirty minutes passed already? There wasn’t going to be enough time for Stu to fill out the form now. Though maybe that was for the best until I got to the crux of his reading issues. “Come on,” I told him. He was still standing uncomfortably close. “We need to get back to the college.”
Ignoring the heated look he gave me, I went to join the students and a short walk later we were back in class. There was only an hour left before lunch, and I planned on using that time to set up a Facebook group we could all use to interact with one another in the evenings. Given it was always a questionable area interacting with students on social media, I’d obtained permission from the department head.
However, since I was teaching adults as opposed to children, it was allowed. In the past I’d used the college’s online forum for such things, but I found nobody really bothered checking in. By creating a group on Facebook, a site many of my students used daily, I found participation was almost ninety per cent higher.
Of course, I didn’t make it compulsory, because I knew not everybody used social media, but I just wanted the option to be there should anyone need support with study or homework.
“I don’t have a Facebook account,” said Larry, speaking up. “Too many of my ex-wives are on there, and I don’t want to see pictures of the new blokes they’ve shacked up.” His grin told me he was trying to be funny.
“That’s quite all right, Larry. If you want I can help you set up an account, but if not you can always contact me by email if there’s an urgent matter you need to discuss. You were all given my address in your orientation folders the first week of class.”
“I never got one of those,” said Stu, levelling his gaze on me. A sliver of awareness trickled down my spine. It seemed to be happening every time we made eye contact now, and I really didn’t know what to make of it.
“Oh, that’s right. It’s because you started late. I’ll put a folder together and have it ready for you tomorrow morning. Does anyone else have any questions?”
Nobody spoke up, but Kian did shout out a certain C word, which I obviously wholeheartedly disregarded. I knew it must have been incredibly difficult living with his condition. Though he was in treatment and most days he did incredibly well keeping his Tourette’s under control.
“Okay,” I said, walking through the room and handing out laptops. They were old and the software was in serious need of an update, but you could still use them to go online. That was the main thing. “When you log on to your accounts you’ll be able to find me under Andrea Anderson. If you click on the friend button, I’ll accept your request and then I can add you to the study group. I’ve posted the rules to the top of the page so you can all familiarise yourselves with them.”
Everybody got to work quietly, and I returned to my desk to find a good number of friend requests had already popped up on my screen. There was one that stood out most, making my heart beat erratically as I stared at his picture.
Stu Cross.
Why did he have to be so good-looking? It really was unfair. He stood in front of a car on a rundown residential street, his arms folded as he smiled at whoever was taking the picture. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans, the gun show very clearly on display.
For some reason it felt odd that he had a Facebook account. He just seemed too rough and ready. I couldn’t picture him sitting in front of a computer, checking his friend requests or commenting on the latest viral post. Hovering the cursor over the request, I finally hit accept and my heart rate sped up further. Why did this feel like stepping over a threshold that I couldn’t turn back from?
As soon as the deed was done I started to wonder if he’d check out my page. Although, I didn’t have very many personal photos or anything like that. There were a few from my holiday last year to Mauritius with Mum and Dad, and a few random ones from various social gatherings over the last few months. There were also a couple older ones of Mark and me that I’d never been able to bring myself to delete. Of course, there were none of Alfie. He expressly forbade posting any pictures of him and said he’d disown me if I did.
I was surprised to hear his brother owned a restaurant, especially given Stu’s criminal history. Usually, crime ran in families, but not always. “The books?” I asked, impressed, especially considering my suspicions about his reading and writing. Perhaps things weren’t as bad as I thought. “Have you done accounting work before?”
He took the final drag of his smoke then stubbed it out with the toe of his boot. Sending me an arch look, he replied, “Sure, none of it technically legal though.”
Realisation hit me. So, by “the books” he meant cooking the books. I really hoped his brother’s restaurant wasn’t a front business for something more sinister. Stu must have read my mind because he went on, “Lee’s place is all above board. He’s given up the old life.”
“Ah, I see. And you?”
“What about me?”
“Have you given up the old life, too?”
It took him a few beats to answer. “Course I have.”
I wasn’t too sure I believed him. Stu let out a low chuckle. “You’ve got a very expressive face, Andrea. Like a fucking billboard.”
I pursed my lips at his persistent use of profanity and my first name. It felt like a losing battle. Still, his statement made me self-conscious as I glanced away. Was I really that transparent?
“You don’t believe I’ve given up thieving, and that’s okay. You’re right to be leery of me. I mean, look at me. If ever there was a shifty-looking geezer, it’s me. But listen, even if I wanted to get back into that racket, where would I find the time? I have to have perfect attendance on this course as part of my parole.”
“There are plenty of hours in the evening to be getting up to no good,” I said, placing my hands on my hips. Stu’s eyes glinted and a smirk shaped his hips. The innuendo in my statement hit me right after I said it.
“There sure are, Andrea,” he said, taking a step toward me. His eyes traced my form as his voice lowered a notch. “There sure are.”
I tugged on my shirt collar, warmth suffusing my cheeks. How could a man’s gaze seem so carnal, as if he was defiling me with just a look? Even worse, why did it both thrill and terrify me?
Five
Most of my students had gathered in the reception area to borrow their chosen books. Had thirty minutes passed already? There wasn’t going to be enough time for Stu to fill out the form now. Though maybe that was for the best until I got to the crux of his reading issues. “Come on,” I told him. He was still standing uncomfortably close. “We need to get back to the college.”
Ignoring the heated look he gave me, I went to join the students and a short walk later we were back in class. There was only an hour left before lunch, and I planned on using that time to set up a Facebook group we could all use to interact with one another in the evenings. Given it was always a questionable area interacting with students on social media, I’d obtained permission from the department head.
However, since I was teaching adults as opposed to children, it was allowed. In the past I’d used the college’s online forum for such things, but I found nobody really bothered checking in. By creating a group on Facebook, a site many of my students used daily, I found participation was almost ninety per cent higher.
Of course, I didn’t make it compulsory, because I knew not everybody used social media, but I just wanted the option to be there should anyone need support with study or homework.
“I don’t have a Facebook account,” said Larry, speaking up. “Too many of my ex-wives are on there, and I don’t want to see pictures of the new blokes they’ve shacked up.” His grin told me he was trying to be funny.
“That’s quite all right, Larry. If you want I can help you set up an account, but if not you can always contact me by email if there’s an urgent matter you need to discuss. You were all given my address in your orientation folders the first week of class.”
“I never got one of those,” said Stu, levelling his gaze on me. A sliver of awareness trickled down my spine. It seemed to be happening every time we made eye contact now, and I really didn’t know what to make of it.
“Oh, that’s right. It’s because you started late. I’ll put a folder together and have it ready for you tomorrow morning. Does anyone else have any questions?”
Nobody spoke up, but Kian did shout out a certain C word, which I obviously wholeheartedly disregarded. I knew it must have been incredibly difficult living with his condition. Though he was in treatment and most days he did incredibly well keeping his Tourette’s under control.
“Okay,” I said, walking through the room and handing out laptops. They were old and the software was in serious need of an update, but you could still use them to go online. That was the main thing. “When you log on to your accounts you’ll be able to find me under Andrea Anderson. If you click on the friend button, I’ll accept your request and then I can add you to the study group. I’ve posted the rules to the top of the page so you can all familiarise yourselves with them.”
Everybody got to work quietly, and I returned to my desk to find a good number of friend requests had already popped up on my screen. There was one that stood out most, making my heart beat erratically as I stared at his picture.
Stu Cross.
Why did he have to be so good-looking? It really was unfair. He stood in front of a car on a rundown residential street, his arms folded as he smiled at whoever was taking the picture. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans, the gun show very clearly on display.
For some reason it felt odd that he had a Facebook account. He just seemed too rough and ready. I couldn’t picture him sitting in front of a computer, checking his friend requests or commenting on the latest viral post. Hovering the cursor over the request, I finally hit accept and my heart rate sped up further. Why did this feel like stepping over a threshold that I couldn’t turn back from?
As soon as the deed was done I started to wonder if he’d check out my page. Although, I didn’t have very many personal photos or anything like that. There were a few from my holiday last year to Mauritius with Mum and Dad, and a few random ones from various social gatherings over the last few months. There were also a couple older ones of Mark and me that I’d never been able to bring myself to delete. Of course, there were none of Alfie. He expressly forbade posting any pictures of him and said he’d disown me if I did.
