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Staring at my lips he leaned closer still. Enough for me to see the tall black edges of his tattoos as they emerged from the neck of his shirt. How many did he have? Was his body covered with them? Maybe his chest was one colourful canvas, spread with eagles and flowers and dirty little words. Closing my eyes, I imagined running my hands over the hard planes of his abdomen, tracing the ink down to where his stomach met his waistband.
“Hey.” His voice was soft, low. “I lost you for a minute.”
Embarrassed, I looked up at him. I was sure he must have been able to read my mind. That he could tell from the expression on my face exactly what I was thinking. Unfortunately, at times like those, I tended to bluster.
“I was thinking how late it is,” I said. “Or how early, I guess.”
The sun hadn’t yet risen enough to be visible over the tall buildings of the City, but the pale orange glow that cast a halo around them told me it wouldn’t be long. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was nearly 6:00 a.m. I’d officially been awake for over twenty-four hours.
I was so going to pay for that later.
“You’re tired?” he asked. “I can take you home.”
My shoulders slumped. “Home?”
No smirk this time. Only that hot, intense, stare. “Your place, my place. Doesn’t matter. The result’s going to be the same.”
“You sound very sure of yourself.”
He stood up, scraping the metal chair legs across the concrete slabs. I did the same, grabbing my jacket and pulling it on. A barrier against the early morning chill.
“I’m not sure of anything.” Alex said it so quietly it was hard to make out the words. For a second, as he stood there in the pale gloom of the early morning, he looked so wistful I wanted to throw my arms around him. But the moment passed and we headed for the tube station, ready to catch the first train of the morning.
I hadn’t really noticed how tall he was until then. On stage, among the instruments and equipment, his stature hadn’t seemed so intimidating. But now, walking down the street alongside me, he towered above, making me feel tiny even in my two-inch heels.
Grabbing my hand, his knuckles skimmed my hip as he wrapped my fingers in his. The double sensation sent a shiver right through me. My skin tingled from him b
eing so close.
“Which line?” he asked.
“District will do. I can get out at Bromley.”
“Not that far from me.”
“Where do you live?” I couldn’t picture him in a bland, executive flat. He was too full of life, too colourful for that.
“Shoreditch. I share a place with some mates.”
That wasn’t too far. But though the development I lived in was nominally in the East End of London, it was full of executives more than anything else. No salt-of-the-earth types there; socially, it was a million miles away from Shoreditch. The old versus the new. Slowly but surely even the last bastions of the East End working class were being pushed out by City money.
“It’s a bit of a journey from Docklands to Shoreditch,” I pointed out. “You’d be better off going to Liverpool Street.”
“I’m not letting you go home alone in the middle of the night.” Alex looked aghast at my suggestion.
“It’s the morning.”
“Still not letting you,” he muttered. Tightening his hand around mine, he pulled me towards the barriers, and we both flashed our Oyster cards against the sensors. I felt that delicious shiver again, warming me from the inside out. And for the umpteenth time that night, I wondered when he was going to kiss me.
If he was going to kiss me.
Dear God, please let him kiss me.
Stepping off the escalator and onto the deserted platform, we leaned against the tiled wall and waited for the first train. I could hear my heart thumping in my chest.
I stared at him. Waiting.
The way he stared back made me feel light-headed.
