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Then it was done, and they were safe, they were safe.
Or at least,shewas safe.Hewas a whole different matter.
“I think I might have to destroy you now,” she said the second it was just them. And she was pleased with herself fordoing it, too, considering she was still sprawled across the seats like someone recently fucked—dress up around her thighs, legs spread around him, face so red someone could have seen it from the moon.
Not to mention the fact that he was kneeling over her, breathing hard.
Like he was the one who’d just done the majority of the work.
Really, it should have been impossible for her to say anything to him ever again. But she had, she’d done it, and she’d gone hard on him, too. So hard, in fact, that he didn’t seem to know what to say for a second.
Then he seemed to shrug with his face.
Fair point, she thought the expression suggested.
Before he added, just for an underline probably: “I’d argue, but it definitely feels like I deserve to be demolished for my crimes.”
And that was a good start, it was. But not good enough to let him off.
“You do. Especially when you factor in that one of these crimes was grabbing my butt in front of a million people, some of whom make their living by selling pictures to papers. Good god, Alfie, why did you grab my butt in front of a million people who make their living by selling pictures to papers? Why?”
“You can’t possibly think I’ve got a good answer for that.”
“Then you lifted me. You turned me over, like… like…” she said, and flapped her hands to try to indicate what she couldn’t spell out. Which he thankfully seemed to understand.
“I know what it was like, all right. I know what I did.”
“And that’s before we even get into the other stuff.”
“Oh god, not the other stuff. Please, can we just not talk about the other stuff right now? I’m traumatized enough as it is without having to get into all that,” he said, at which point she had to say: she was glad she hadn’t let him off.
Because now he was really going to get it.
“You’retraumatized enough? Alfie, I ghostwrite books for a living. I see maybe three people a month, and one of them is my postie. I am well known in my pretty tiny friend circle for being only at my bubbly best in small groups, and I’m pretty sure part of the reason I chose this career path was my terror of being seen as a fool by potentially millions of people. And yet now, because of you, I have to somehow cope with the fact that I am currently plastered all over theDaily Mailonline, looking like a toddler with a shocking amount of very poorly brushed hair,” she burst out. All in one big go, like lancing a boil.
She even let out a groan of relief at the end of it.
Only to getthisin response:
“I did show you how to get the tangles out.”
Though to his credit, he cursed himself once he’d said it.
Like he’d done so without thinking, and now regretted it.
Not that it mattered to her. “Holy crapola, did you actually just say that?”
“No. I never. You’ve fallen asleep and me saying that is just a horrible nightmare. In a second I’m going to wake you up by telling you something completely normal, like you looked like a soft rabbit.”
“But that isn’t completely normal either, Alfie.”
“I know,” he groaned. “I heard myself saying it and my brain just started yelling.”
“Well, it obviously needs to get faster. So it grabs you before you do it.”
“And what are the chances of that? You’ve seen how I am. Stuck in the past, slower than an old man sucking a toffee. It’s a fucking miracle I can even keep up with you at all, conversation-wise. Never mind saying things that make sense.”
Now it was his turn to let out a kind of sound of relief.
