“What?”
“Will you waltz with me, one last time?” I ask. Because if this is our last time, I have to have this.
“Can we waltz to… this?” she asks, meaning the music.
“I guess we’ll find out,” I say and although my smile is reluctant and forced, it prompts Mina to grin back at me as she steps into the box I’m creating with my hands.
And we dance. My kitchen and living room don’t allow for much more than a box step, but we make it work. Even more than on our previous occasions dancing, we’re being liberal with our interpretation of the dance steps, and there’s a lot more laughing than dancing, but that’s what I need. I need to ease the ache that has settled in my chest about this being the last time. The finality is physically hurting me in a way that I didn’t even experience when Markus and I eventually called it quits. It feels dramatic and over-the-top and unnecessary, but there’s no denying how real it is, churning up my stomach and squeezing hard on my heart.
But hearing Mina laugh helps, even if the lightness and relief in it all is bittersweet. There’s just something so buoying, so heartening about seeing her smile and hearing her song-like giggles land in my ear. As I lead us in a quick and fumbling change step towards the living room, her laughter only increases and by the time we’re back to box-stepping next to the coffee table, I’m chuckling with her too.
“The song’s about to end.” She giggles. “We were supposed to fuck to that song.”
“Hey Google,” I say quickly. “Repeat song.”
“Oh, goodie. Does that mean we can fuck now?”
“Nope.” I lean her back in a bend. “This is our last dance. It’s not ending anytime soon.”
“Oh, Jesus,” she says but it doesn’t sound begrudging at all because she’s still laughing as I pull her back up, possibly pressing her against my body a little firmer than before.
To her credit, Mina doesn’t mutter another word about stopping the dance as we make it to the end of the song. Not that we’re waltzing anymore. At some point, we closed the distance between us and Mina realigned her body with the front of mine rather than the side. We’ve slowed our movements to swaying on the spot, and I’m not sure when exactly it happened, but one of my legs is wedged between both of hers and I can’t help but notice how warm the apex of her thighs is.
And then she tilts her head back and looks up at me, really looks at me. Her big brown eyes are pinned on me and I soak up her warm stare. And then I feel it again. Hope. It’s not just knocking on the door wanting to be let back in, it’s already arrived, taking up space and putting down roots.
“Mina,” I say.
“Charlie,” she says.
“Do you really—” I begin but she’s speaking at the same time.
“Please fuck me.” She’s saying as her hands slide up my back. Her voice is as liquid and thick as syrup. “Fuck me so good.”
“For the last time?” I ask, not so much as wanting to confirm as I want to give her an opportunity to change her mind.
But she doesn’t. I already see the resolve and the certainty in her stare, as lust filled as it is.
“For the last time,” she confirms with a little nod.
My heart doesn’t sink, it plummets. Thunders to the ground dragging my stupid old friend Hope down with it. But somehow my smile only slips a little, doesn’t slide off my face completely, because I keep grinning at her until she pushes up on her toes and places her lips on mine.
Because somehow, for some stupid, idiotic reason I still have the most tentative of grips on it. Hope. I still have hope.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Morning Turns To Night
Mina
Darkness has fallen outside while we were fucking and although I know it doesn’t mean it’s late because that’s just what happens early evening in November in London, it’s a reminder that I need to head home and rest. Yes, actually rest. If I want to be anything close to as good as I want to be tomorrow, I need some serious sleep to make up for last night, not to mention more sex in a twenty-four-hour period than I’ve had since Hannah and I first got together.
But even with Hannah, it wasn’t like this. And I don’t just mean anatomically. With Hannah I felt like I had something to prove – that I could top her better than she topped me, that I could make her come more than she made me orgasm – but with Charlie, there’s no pressure, no competition, no performance. It’s easy and fun. It’s the right mix of explorative and experimental, all wrapped up in sweet and exciting unpredictability.
Correction. It’sbeeneasy. It’sbeenfun. It’sbeenexplorative and experimental and exciting and unpredictable in the sweetest way.
And now it’s over.
I allow myself one deep sigh to mark this realisation.
