“What?” He barks out the word, amused.
“Isn’t it?” My shoulders move with bemusement. “Arethey the same thing?
“Who’ve you been listening to?”
“El.” That wipes the smile from his face. “Well, I overheard him calling someone a cheeky wanker, and the other I heard on the Tube one ride in last week.”
“In what context?” he asks, “because the mind boggles.”
“I was eavesdropping. One girl was describing to another how she’d given her boyfriend a cheeky wank. She made it sound like she was doing him a favor.”
“Well, a cheeky wank can be fun,” he offers, trying hard to fight a smile. “Especially if there’s another party involved and they’re into it. But an appeasement wank sounds pretty sad.” His chest rises and falls as though to prepare himself, his eyes sliding briefly my way. “You sure you’re not having me on?”
“That means teasing you, right?” I give my head a shake. “Definitely notwinding you up,” I say with the authenticity of the chimney sweep inMary Poppins.
He laughs again and,ah me, I love making his mouth tip up and that chest heave with amusement. It’s addictive—like love crack, without the illicit connotations or actual love. Romantic love, I mean. I’m totally prepped against that.
“So come on. Explain!” I literally bounce in my seat.
Whit signals left mutters over his shoulder something that sounds like “can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” then, “a cheeky wank is an impromptu act of self-love.”
“A what?” I feel my brow pucker.
“Meeting Mrs. Palm and her five lovely daughters.” Holding up his left hand, he wiggles his fingers before making a cylinder of them and, well, you know.
“Ohh.” The graphic gesture totally makes sense.
“So a cheeky wanker is someone who’s having a cheeky wank?”
“No, that one is more like a mild insult. Like someone is taking the piss, annoying you? Like calling someone a jerk-off, but less venomous.”
“Whit, you are so educational. I know oyu said you’d teach me, but…”
This time, the amusement that flitters across his face is a mite darker. “Tip of the iceberg, little fly. Tip of the iceberg.”
I dip my head to my lap and the loose thread again. “Flies are so…”
“‘So handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes.’”
“Do you know the whole poem?” I ask softly.
“I might’ve googled it recently,” he admits with a touch of amusement.
Danger. Danger! This is the kind of man a girl could easily fall for.
“Speaking of the internet,” I say with a forced brightness as pull out my phone, “what are the popular dating apps in London?”
“And you suppose I’d know.” His tone is suddenly gruff.
“Come on, Whit. You’re not a monk. The girl you were expecting a few weeks ago when I turned up didn’t just materialize. She came from somewhere.”
“Not a dating app.” The phrase ‘brooks no opposition’ springs to mind. “I take it that means you haven’t changed your mind.” Something unpleasant flits over his face, but a passive mask soon resumes.
“About dating?” Serious about making you think I am, anyway. I need to put more thought into this than letting knee-jerk ridiculousness spill from my mouth. Why the hell did I think asking would help?
“Forget it,” he mutters, grumpy CEO Whit taking over.
I wish I could forget. I wish I could take myself back to the moment I realized Whit deserved to do better because then I’d make sure to gloss over it. I’d think of only me and be greedy about my fill.
