Thief of Hearts (5 page)

“Stu, I overlooked your language inside the library just now, but if you swear at me again I’ll have no other choice but to report your behaviour to the dean.”

He at least had the decency to look regretful. “Sorry. Look, it’s how I talk. I don’t mean anything by it.”

I sighed. “Well, try not to swear around me, okay? You might be thirty years old, but this is still school. You need to be respectful.”

“Got ya.”

“So, if you don’t live with your parents, where have you been staying?”

“With my brothers.”

“Oh, really?” I said, relieved he wasn’t all alone. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Three. Lee, Trevor, and Liam.”

“And you all live together?”

“Yeah. It’s a bit of a full house at the moment, actually. Lee’s missus, Karla, lives with us now, and then there’s our cousin, Sophie, and her son, Jonathan. Oh, and her foster daughter, Billie.”

“Wow, that really is a full house,” I said.

Stu nodded. “Tell me about it. I feel like I’m getting under everyone’s feet. They got used to me not being there, and now I’m back, taking up space.”

“I’m sure they don’t see it that way. They’re probably just happy to have you home and safe,” I said, sad for him. He’d been away for two years and things had changed. It must be difficult to feel like there wasn’t a place for you anymore.

“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?

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.

Needless to say, he wasn’t the biggest fan of social networking. Neither was Jamie. Given that my two closest friends didn’t use Facebook, my page was pretty boring and inactive.

I tried resisting the urge to have a peek at Stu’s page, but my willpower barely lasted five minutes before I clicked on his profile to snoop. I was such a weak-willed human being.

Scrolling down, I saw that most of the posts on his wall were from other people, a lot of them congratulating him on his early release. I found it weird, but then again, I wasn’t from that world.
So why was I so interested?

I avoided answering that question the same way I avoided thinking about my debt. Seemingly, it was my coping method in many areas of life.

Aside from a few funny memes, I couldn’t really find any posts he’d written himself, and it further piqued my concerns about his writing. Obviously, he must’ve been able to read somewhat if he was on Facebook in the first place, but the question was how much.

There were a lot of family pictures he’d been tagged in, and well, his brothers were certainly an attractive bunch. Stu was definitely the best looking, with his dark hair and eyes. The rest of his brothers had lighter hair and piercing blue eyes. He was also the tallest, and studying them all together, I thought he might be the eldest, too.

I startled when somebody spoke, immediately shutting down the page. Seriously, you’d swear I’d just been looking at porn.

“Miss Anderson, I haven’t received any invite to the group yet,” said Harold with a hint of impatience. He didn’t like to be left waiting for things. I noticed Stu shoot him an arch look and remembered the first day when I’d had to quell a potential argument between the two of them over seating.

“I’m sorry, Harold. I got caught up sending an email,” I lied. “I’ll get on those invites right away.”

“Or he could just wait for you to be finished with what you’re doing,” said Stu, one arm resting casually on the back of his chair.

“It’s already been five minutes and the bell is going to ring for lunch any second,” Harold complained, which only functioned to bother Stu further.

“And she’s in charge,” Stu countered. “So quit being a whiny little bitch and wait until she’s ready.”

“Stu!” I exclaimed, while several of the other students gasped their surprise at his aggression. Sure, Harold wasn’t exactly a favourite in the class, but no one would ever think to speak to him like Stu just had. “That’s quite enough,” I continued, my voice hard. The bell chimed right after I said it and everybody stood from their seats, probably relieved for an excuse to leave.

“I’ll send the invites during lunch, everyone,” I called then shot Stu a pointed look. “Stay back a minute. I need a word.” It felt like I was constantly holding him back to have words, but I just couldn’t let behaviour like that slide.
He wasn’t my first student to have teething problems while adapting to classroom etiquette, yet I was undecided whether it was his upbringing or perhaps arrogance.

“That was completely uncalled for,” I said once everyone was out of the room.

“What? I was only saying what everybody else was thinking. That bloke is constantly complaining about shit. Someone needed to call him on it.”

“Not like that, Stu. That’s not how we speak to each other in this classroom. It’s about respect, not name calling. You’re breaking the rules of behaviour.”

He scrunched up his brows. “Just because I called him a whiny little bitch? I’m sure he’s been called worse.”

“Harold is fifty-seven years old and about half your height. He’s also been out of the education system for almost forty years. You can’t imagine how scary that is for a person. He basically has to learn
how
to learn all over again from scratch.”

“We’ve all been out of school for a long time, Andrea. I know exactly how it feels, but I don’t go around complaining about every little thing.”

“That’s because you’re stronger than he is. Try to have a little empathy, Stu. Stepping into someone else’s shoes will help you see that we’re all struggling, and that way you’ll learn tolerance. You can’t just go around telling people off because they deal with things in different ways than you do.”

He ran a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath. “I just don’t like him talking to you like that, okay? It’s disrespectful.”

Now I laughed. “Coming from someone who’s disrespected me countless time in the past week.”

“I haven’t disrespected you. I just talk to you how I’d talk to anyone. And I think you’re gorgeous, so . . . yeah, when I like a bird I tend to be a little full on. Sorry. I also haven’t been around women for a long time, so I’m kinda rusty.” His expression turned self-conscious, which oddly looked good on him.

I couldn’t seem to hide my blush at his compliment, even if I did dislike being referred to as a ‘bird’. “If what you said on your first day is to be believed, then you didn’t waste too much time getting reacquainted,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

His gaze flicked up, his hazel eyes turning dark and introspective. “Yeah. Right.”

It felt like I’d struck a nerve, and I immediately felt bad for making light of his time in prison. I frowned. “That comment was in poor taste. I apologise.”

Stu’s hand went from his hair down to rub at his jaw. It was a very nice jaw. I couldn’t help noticing. “Don’t apologise. I just, what I said that day was bullshit. I was peacocking or whatever they call it. Truth is, I haven’t been with anyone since I got out. Haven’t had an appetite for women at all, really. It’s kind of depressing.”

I didn’t bring up the fact that he’d been hitting on me pretty hard since day one. Instead, I asked, “Why do you think that is?”

His tone was self-deprecating. “Prison fucked my head up, probably.”

I approached the desk where he sat and pulled up a chair, my heart clenching for him. I couldn’t even imagine what prison would be like. “Did something happen to you while you were in there?” My voice was soft.

Stu arched a brow. “Do I look like the sort of bloke that ‘something’ would happen to? Fuck no, Andrea. But I saw it happening to others, and more. Every time I close my eyes at night, I see it. Makes me feel sick.”

I stared at him; the look on his face told me he wasn’t lying. In fact, this was probably the most real he’d been with me so far. “The college has a counsellor, you know. If you ever want to talk to someone.” I thought it was a good idea. Maybe he’d even be more comfortable telling the counsellor about his reading and writing.

His head whipped up. “Why can’t I talk to you?”

“Of course you can talk to me, but I’m not a counsellor, Stu. I can lend an ear, but I’m not qualified to give advice.”

“And ear’s all I need.”

“Okay, then. Do you mind if I eat lunch while we talk? I’m starved.”

“Go ahead.”

He watched as I went to grab the food container from my bag and I thought it’d be rude to not offer him anything, so I asked, “Do you want to share with me?”

A small smile graced his lips as he shrugged. “Sure.”

I sat down next to him again and placed the food on the table, dividing it up between us as I spoke. “So, you’ll need to apologise to Harold. But you have to promise you won’t act out in class again. The college has strict rules, Stu, and the dean expects compliance. I’ll make an allowance this once but I won’t be able to do it again, otherwise people will become suspicious.”

Stu got a flirtatious glint in his eye, his voice lowering as he teased me. “Will they think we’re fucking after hours, Miss Anderson?”

I narrowed my gaze, trying to ignore how my belly fluttered in response to his use of the F word. I wasn’t a prude, but Mark and I had never
fucked
as such. We had always made love. I swallowed and tried to keep my voice steady.

“Don’t be a smart-arse, or I’ll take back the olive branch I just extended.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “My bad. I’ll keep this smart-arse locked up tight.”

My lips twitched but I just about managed to keep my smile at bay. “See that you do.”

Stu grinned, and his eyes traced my features. “You run a tight ship, huh?”

I picked up one of the sandwiches and took a bite. Taking my time to chew and swallow, I finally replied, “That’s right, so you should consider following my rules from now on.”

The rest of my thoughts I left unspoken. The thing was, I had a feeling if I didn’t run a tight ship with Stu Cross, it was possible I’d find myself falling overboard very quickly.