Thief of Hearts by L.H. Cosway Page A

fix on Alfie for a long moment, but he was probably just curious as to why he had paint all over his clothes.
    “Here you go. That’ll be £12.99,” I said, and Stu handed over the money before nodding to Alfie.
    “Who’s that?”
    “Oh, that’s my cousin, Alfie. He’s an artist, forever stuck in some creative endeavour,” I explained with a smile.
    Stu’s eyebrows jumped. “Your cousin? Care to introduce me?”
    I frowned, remembering how freaked Alfie had been when Stu dropped me off at the flat the other day.
    Biting my lip, I answered, “Um, he’s not the most social animal. It’s probably for the best if I don’t.”
    Stu took a step closer, and once again, the intoxicating scent of his cologne made me a little weak-kneed. Why did he always have to smell so good?
    “You ashamed of me, Andrea?” he asked low.
    My heart pounded, both at his closeness and his question. “You’re my student. What’s there to be ashamed about?”
    “You tell me. All I know is you looked anxious as fuck just now.”
    “Like I said, Alfie’s not great with people, all people. It’s got nothing to do with you. Now, would you like to take a seat? There are customers behind you waiting to be served.”
    Stu stared me down for a moment before going to sit. I watched as he sat a few seats away from two plainly dressed middle-aged men, so completely out of place. Stu wore dark jeans and a T-shirt under his worn leather jacket. Definitely the last person you’d expect to see at an event like this.
    The reading would start in just a few minutes, and I was relieved Stu and I wouldn’t have any more opportunities to talk for a while. It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy he was here, showing an interest in an academic subject. It was more that our conversations always tended to veer toward the uncomfortable or awkward, or sexy awkward . And I couldn’t tell if it was his fault or mine.
    Probably a little of both.
    When the reading began I took the opportunity to pay a visit to the bathroom, and when I returned, Alfie was waiting outside, an unhappy slant to his mouth.
    “What is that man doing here? Did you invite him?”
    “He expressed an interest in Persian history,” I answered, trying for casual. “I’m encouraging him to be pro-active about his learning.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was the best I could do. I couldn’t tell Alfie that Stu had turned up after eavesdropping on a conversation and discovering I’d be here. If I did he’d blow a gasket. He already thought I was too lax with my personal information as it was.
    “He keeps turning up, Andie. Are you sure he isn’t stalking you?”
    “He’s not stalking me. Now relax and go back to the reading. Jamie’s spent the last month organising all this, and it’d be nice for him to see you show an interest.”
    “He’s well aware that wars are my most hated aspect of history.”
    “Your last painting depicted the wreckage after a bomb,” I countered.
    “Yes, and every moment creating it was agony. Sometimes the things I hate the most make me feel the most, Andie.”
    “I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
    Alfie looked at the floor. “Well anyway, I think I might head home. I don’t feel safe with your stalker hanging around.”
    He said the last part with a hint of sarcasm and I had to wonder if he just didn’t like the idea of anyone taking my attention away from him. He could be very possessive of my friendship in that respect. Even when Mark was alive, Alfie and I had been close, but still not as close as we were now. I’d been terribly bereft and lonely after Mark passed and Alfie had been desperate to move out of his mother’s house, hence our decision to move in together. Over the years we’d come to depend on one another in different ways, though Alfie definitely depended on me more than I did him. But it was a good fit. For both of us.
    “Andrea, is there a john in here I can use?” came a familiar voice and I