He was loving the job, he was living with George and Harry; everything that had been so awful and so frightening about his world had somehow resolved itself into this arrangement that worked so well for all of them. Well, he hoped that was the case. He knew he had freaked George a little with the cuddles and kisses, but he couldn’t help that, he really couldn’t because he loved George, he adored him, and he had been stifling an impulse to get closer ever since he’d met him. It had been killing him having to suppress how he truly felt. Now, George knew. And at first – granted – George had been shocked. That had hurt Alfie so much. But now, George had mellowed. He had never mentioned that night again, but he was acting normally around Alfie, laughing, joking, having breakfast down the caff, still dating the women and – Alfie supposed, and felt a bit unhappy about it – still shagging them too, and taking their money for it. Harry had even suggested that Alfie go on the pay roll when he hit his eighteenth birthday.
