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“Lockwood, I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”
Lockwood looked up from his stack of invoices to find George standing at the door to his bedroom. “Yes, George?”
George came further into the room, effectively barricading the door. His baggy t-shirt hung to his upper thighs, and his trousers had already been discarded for the night. “It’s about Lucy.”
Lockwood barely managed to stifle a sigh. Since Lucy’s arrival at 35 Portland Row several months prior, she and George had been at each other’s throats almost constantly.
He leaned back in his chair. “What about Lucy? Has she spilled jam on some of your ‘very important notes’ again?”
“I hope not.” George gave him a suspicious glance, and Lockwood knew he was fighting off the urge to bolt to the kitchen to confirm that the Thinking Cloth was still intact. “No, it’s about your behavior with her.”
Lockwood barked out a laugh. “My behavior? What do you mean? I’m the one who actually gets on with her.”
“That’s exactly it.” George glowered at him. “You’ve been getting a bit too familiar with her.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Lockwood arched an eyebrow. “Just because I can actually be polite and friendly to Lucy, that doesn’t mean—”
“So strolling around the house without a shirt on is friendly behavior now?”
“It gets hot in the basement when I train. I don’t think that’s—”
“Well, what about that display the other day in the basement when you were holding her?”
Lockwood’s eyes flicked away. He swallowed, remembering how Lucy had felt in his arms, closer than they’d ever been before. “She was ill.”
“It doesn’t change that you were half dressed. We’re a proper company, and there’s a girl living here now. We’ve got to keep things above board. My mum would never let me hear the end of it if Lucy was uncomfortable.”
Lockwood was too stunned by the hypocrisy of George—in his bedroom late at night, half dressed—to respond.
George put his hands on his hips, making his shirt ride up further. “I’ve made my own sacrifices since Lucy moved in. I stopped practicing yoga outside my bedroom, even though it’s really too cramped with all of my books to do a proper warrior two.”
“What?”
“You need to behave.” George sighed. “Stop prancing around half naked because you like the way Lucy looks at you.”
“I do not prance—” George’s glare was withering. Lockwood cleared his throat. He couldn’t help it if his walk had a certain flair, but perhaps George had a point about getting too familiar with Lucy. Certain boundaries needed to be maintained.
George turned back towards the door. “Can we consider this conversation finished? I’d rather not discuss this again.”
“That makes two of us,” Lockwood said flatly. “Close the door on the way out.”
The door clicked behind George, and Lockwood glanced down at his stack of invoices before deciding they would wait until the next day.
A long sigh escaped him as he flopped back into bed. The way Lucy looks at you, he repeated, the phrase scratching both a flattering and unfamiliar itch at the back of his mind. He stared at the cracks in his ceiling, now acutely aware of Lucy in her own bed on the floor above him.
Lockwood dragged the back of a hand across his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Thanks to George, he certainly wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.