“Sorry,” I choke through the mouth full of bread and meat, my cheeks turning a rosy pink with the feel of his hands on me.
“Don’t be sorry. You’re eating it like a pro!” He smiles and takes another bite of his own.
“How embarrassing,” I whisper, still trying to chew through my last mouthful.
“Not at all. A girl who can eat is the best kind.” He smirks.
I rest the kebab down on the paper and take a chip and eat it with an attempt at being more graceful.
He places his down as well and rests his chin on his hands. “Your ex was an idiot,” he slurs slightly.
“Huh?”
“Nothing. Just your ex was an idiot. For doing what he did.” He takes a sip of the 7Up we decided to share.
I shrug. “Yeah. Wasn’t the nicest thing that has happened to me.”
“What’s the nicest thing?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“Well, what’s the nicest thing that’s happened to you?” He looks at me intently. I want to tell him, here, right this moment, but I don’t.
“Probably this kebab,” I tease.
“Wow, the bar is set low with you, London. We need to introduce more pleasant things into your life.”
I can feel the drunk flirtation in his voice. I can also feel the drunk flirtation fill up my throat and before I have time to stop it, I blurt out, “Well, you’re nice.”
Well, I have said it now.
He smirks and nods. “I am, in fact, pretty nice.” He looks proud of himself with that statement.
“Humble…” I laugh. I feel silly but also brave at the same time. How can those two emotions entwine? I feel nervous but in an enjoyable way.
“I think I’m done with food.” I wrap up the leftovers and get up to the bin. I lose my footing as I try to pass him at the table and nearly end up on the floor. He catches me with his hand on my lower back as I fall backwards onto him.
“I think it’s home time,” he says quietly while holding me. We are but a breath away. I want to kiss him so badly. And I nearly do when the table next to us erupts into a flurry of laughter after one of the men drops his chips everywhere.
We laugh and he stands up, pulling me up with him where I slightly wobble again.
“Here, lean on me, wino.” He holds my waist with his hand, pulling me in close and letting me feel his strength. He couldeasily throw me over his shoulder, but I think the mix of meat and alcohol would come tumbling out. We make our way out of the takeaway and into the street which is still busy with people coming out of the pub and a few of the restaurants.
Sam waves his hand at a taxi driving past which pulls in towards us. He opens the door and helps me sit inside. I all of a sudden feel drunk drunk.
He hurries to the other side and sits beside me.
“Where to?”
“Brindlewood please, mate.”
The drive is hazy. The lights of Ravenswick become distant and the night takes over. Nothing but blackness when we drive.
Our hands are placed in the centre seat. Just nearly touching. I can feel the heat between them. My fingers feel like they are on fire. Does he want to hold my hand? Does he want to hold mine? Should I? I am overthinking this.
“This one, mate?” the taxi driver asks.
“Yeah, just down the drive.” Sam points in the direction of the cottage.
