‘That’s a shame,’ I sigh.
‘A big one. The chemistry went crazy. I just know if I’d brought her back here, we could have...’ He trails off.
‘Had an emotionally stimulating conversation in a smaller, more intimate space?’
‘Yep, stimulating conversation. And I would have stimulated her well, I’ll tell you that.’ His lip curls as I grimace.
I start to tell him to let her down gently, but he informs me that they already climbed that hurdle last night. They talked it through before leaving and she respected his honesty. The whole thing sounds incredibly mature and far too good to be a true story, but somehow I still believe it. Noah has an endearing rawness to him that pushes me to take his words as truth.
‘I’m proud of you,’ I say as I start to pack up my bag. ‘It seems tough now, but, trust me, it will be worth it. Plus, sex with feelings hits different.’
He huffs. ‘At this rate, by the time I get there my memories will be too far gone to compare.’
I roll my eyes before making my way out the door and leaving him to his remote workday, but his last words stay with me on my walk. In fact, it makes me realise that I barely remember what it feels like to get that far with someone. And I certainly don’t remember what it feels like to actuallyenjoygoing through with the deed.
Sex with Tom started fun, I think, once upon a time. But looking back, it was fun in the way that anything new is. It was foreign and exciting because we were new. Then the newness faded and what was left was comparatively mundane. The longer we stayed together the more we both got complacent, especially when it came to being physical. By the time we ended, I think there was a part of me that was subconsciously avoiding getting naked with him. There was no point going through all the fuss and the lead-up for a sweaty three minutes of somethingdeeply awkward and mildly uncomfortable. The thought of him floundering on top of me sticks with me for a moment and sends a shiver down my spine.
I close my eyes, desperate to think of anything else and am immediately met with the image of Noah’s lips on my neck. I practically feel his fingers grip at my flesh as my back presses harder against the kitchen counter. We’re in Brussels, and I’m moaning and throwing my head back as he sucks on my...
God, I need to stop. What happened to rule number eight?
I shake it off, take a deep breath and whip out my phone camera to fix my hair. It makes sense that I thought of it. It was my last good kiss that didn’t face a mortifying end. Hopefully today changes that. I smooth down my sundress the closer I get to the restaurant.
Hendrik’s already waiting for me by the time I reach it, wearing a crisp blue shirt and pair of smart black trousers. He looks up and smiles, squinting through the sun to make out my figure as I lumber on towards him.
‘Great table choice!’ I commend him as I slide into my seat.
He picked one right next to the canal, overlooking the water as the sun streams in overhead.
‘You’ve got to get in early with these things,’ he says, leaning in closer. ‘A lot of these tourists don’t know that. They think booking will get them a table of choice and then they show up and complain, but you’ve still got to get here early and request the best ones in person.’
‘Good tip,’ I thank him, mainly to move the conversation on.
He’s even more handsome in the daylight. Garishly so. Like a Ken doll come to life and then pumped full of filler. His face is so symmetrical that it comes across a little uncanny. I pour a glass of water from the jug and try to stop staring.
‘What’s good here?’ I ask, picking up the menu.
‘I’ve already ordered.’
‘Oh, cool, well, I’ll read quickly, then.’
‘No – for both of us.’
I look back up at him, confused.
‘I know the food well.’ He reaches over and snatches my menu from my hand.
The first course arrives – a bowl of olives to share. What a bold and divisive item to order on someone else’s behalf. I pick at one just to be nice while he fills me in on his morning. They taste just as bad as I remember. I clamp my mouth shut and muddle through as the briny taste floods my mouth, balancing the stone between my two back teeth.
‘I’m not really an olive girl,’ I say, removing the stone from my mouth.
‘Everyone says that until they grow into the taste. Have another.’ He holds the bowl out towards me.
‘I think I’m done growing,’ I say.
‘Trust me, they’ll grow on you. It happens to everyone at some point.’
I don’t think it happens to everyone. I’m sure there are many adults in the world that still don’t like olives in their older years. I go to object but quickly stop myself because there’s no real point in arguing about olives with a guy I probably won’t see again. So instead, I nod, a taut smile stretching across my lips in an attempt to sell my lie with conviction.
