The Rent Boy (EDITING)

Chapter Eleven: Truth-

    I scuffed my feet along the pavement, the noise sounding deafeningly loud in the silence of the night. It was around nine and the only light illuminating the area was from the rich bastards' houses that streamed yellow light from their windows.

    It'd been almost two weeks since I'd walked out on Logan. I'd ignored his calls for about a day or so, until I realised he wasn't about to stop unless I answered. Nothing much was said, but he apologised for freaking out on me that night, and I apologised for being a bit of twat and storming off. Since then, I'd pretty much gone around his house every other night.

    It became less awkward between us after the first few visits. We talked more and...did less. It was slowly starting to feel even less like a job with him, and more like we'd just known each other from school and hung out every so oft. It'd only been two weeks though, and that's what surprised me.

    I didn't understand what it was about him that made me feel so secure and comfortable, but if I was honest, I didn't like it in the least. It wasn't something I was used to. I didn't want to start confusing business with pleasure, yet I knew I was because each and every time I'd been around to Logan's, I hadn't wanted to leave.

    I took in a deep breath, finally approaching his door. I knocked three times and waited for him to answer. He stood there in the doorway, leaning against it with a shy little smile on his lips. He was dressed in tight, denim skinnies and a black v-neck. I cocked an eyebrow at the sight that lacked intention, and smiled up at him with a hint of embarrassment after I'd apparently finished checking him out.

    “Hey,” he said as he stood there, knowing exactly what effect his choice of clothing had on me. “I was just about to grab a quick bite to eat, you want something?” he nodded towards his kitchen as he stepped aside to let me through, closing the front door behind me.

    “Erm,” I mumbled. My stomach growled quietly at the thought of food, but I shook my head nonetheless. “I'm alright, I'll get something later.”

    “You sure?”

    “Mhm,” my eyes wandered around the open space. The kitchen had a neutral theme to it. The cupboards ran along a corner of the room, opposite the door, in an 'L' shape. Logan was leaning against the fridge-freezer's door––which was disguised as a cupboard to fit with the theme––cracking open a coke can and taking a large gulp. I sat myself down at the island table in front of him.

    “Do you want a drink, then? I've got coke, fruit juice...water. Take your pick.”

    I was tempted to ask for a coke, but again I just shook my head and said, “I'm fine,” he shrugged, taking the chair opposite to mine and letting his arms rest on the edge of the table, the coke can dangling between his loose fingers.

    “Weren't you getting something to eat?” I asked, starting to feel a bit unnerved by his staring.

   “Got a pizza in the oven. I figured you might be hungry so you'll have to eat anyway, I'm afraid. My mum hates it when I waste food, and I can't eat a whole pizza to myself.” He grinned almost mischievously, swaying his can to and fro. I could hear the coke swishing about from side to side.

    To be honest, I was actually pretty glad that he'd gone ahead and put a pizza in, cause I was hungry to hell but too polite––or nervous, however you wanted to look at it I suppose––to say so.

    “You're quiet tonight,” Logan muttered, taking a swig of his drink. “Something happen today?”

    “Like what?”

   “I don't know, you tell me,” his eyes never left mine the entire time he spoke. They bore into me with somewhat of a challenge in his gaze. I didn't rise to it.