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‘I didn’t mean to fall asleep,’ I say, reaching for the coffee. He’s made it black, which is strange, because that’s just how I have it. I sip it and let out a small moan of appreciation.
‘Good?’ he prompts over the rim of his own mug.
‘Shh,’ I tease. ‘Let me drink this, then we’ll talk.’
We drink our coffee in silence, my little ritual one I’m glad to observe, even side by side with Nicholas.
‘I didn’t mean to stay over,’ I reiterate, a few minutes later, placing the empty coffee cup in the sink.
‘Why?’
‘I just didn’t plan on it.’ I shrug.
‘We were up late.’ He says the word with emphasis.
I think it was about two when I last saw the time. ‘I remember.’
‘It would have been kind of dumb to slink home at that hour.’
‘Nonetheless,’ I murmur, my voice a little icy, ‘I prefer to sleep in my own bed.’
His face shifts with something like amusement and then he shrugs. ‘Sure, if you’d like.’
I’m slightly mollified, but not completely. Our conversation from earlier sits inside me like the sharp edge of a blade and I can’t really say why.
‘Do you have much on today?’
‘Yeah.’ I nod, looking around for my clothes. They’re arranged on the edge of a chair. I stride to them, pulling the dress on over my head only to find him watching me with a small smile on his face. My blood pounds through me. ‘You?’
‘Sure.’ He shrugs. ‘But I’d like to see you tonight.’
Tonight. Pleasure sounds in my head, pleasure so intense it almost drowns out the warning bells. Because he is ever so slightly too much for me to handle. Because I would fully believe it if a doctor told me he had the addictive properties of a drug and that I was already way over quota.
‘Not tonight,’ I say, shifting into my coat, then looking around for my handbag. It’s on the kitchen bench. I lift it over my shoulder, checking I have everything.
‘Tomorrow night?’
My heart is hammering. I keep my head bent so he doesn’t see the way I’m shaking. ‘I’ll message you.’
He nods, a frown on his face that he quickly erases.
‘I don’t have my bikini,’ I say, when I reach the door.
‘Leave them. Next time, we’ll use the hot tub.’
It conjures images that are too hot to forget.
I smile and nod, pushing down on my doubts as to the wisdom of this. ‘Sounds fun.’ I lift up and press a kiss to his lips then turn and walk away, needing a bit of space and a bit of time.
And maybe he gets that, because I don’t hear from him at all that day. Nor the next. By Friday afternoon I’m starting to worry I’ve done something stupid and ruined this.
And it is truly the best sex I’ve ever had, but, more than that, I’m having fun.
Why did I get so bogged down in worrying about the future when we’ve both been clear about what we do and don’t want?
Because I’m a worrier. It’s what I do. If it were a job, I’d be supremely qualified.
Before I can regret it, I pull my phone out of my handbag and pull up our message chat.
