babe.”
This is a mistake. I knew it as soon as I set eyes on him. I wasn't prepared to see him and I'm certainly not ready for a full-on charm onslaught. I need to work myself up, starting with short, benign exposures.
“It's ready.” Sophie slides her hand into a pair of oven mitts and pulls the cast iron pot out of the stove. Stepping carefully, she carries the steaming dish over to the kitchen table, where she places it on the waiting mat. “Can you bring the rice over, Nick?” She takes off the lid and vapour escapes, momentarily turning the air above the table opaque. “Sit, sit.” She gestures at the two seats opposite. “Don't let it go cold.”
Glancing at Luke, I pull out my chair, smoothing my dress across my thighs. I can feel his gaze follow my movements He offers me the naan bread, holding the plate as I tear off a piece, then he tops up my glass.
It's strange, because this is all so familiar. The four of us have been sitting around tables for years. From tea with our parents to teenage pig-outs at McDonald's, we've grown up eating together.
Now it feels like the last supper.
Sophie makes small talk about her clients in the salon, telling us about an old lady who insisted she wanted a cut and blow job. I choke on a piece of lamb, and it takes Luke slamming me to dislodge it.
“You okay? You went pretty blue there for a minute.” It hasn't escaped my notice that his hand is still on my back, rubbing small circles against my spine.
“Yeah, I just need Sophie to stop making me laugh.”
“It's not the first time you've choked on a blow job,” she quips, and Luke laughs. I try not to look at him, because if I do he'll know what I'm thinking about. And I really don't want to be thinking about that .
“It beats getting caught with your knickers down in the art room.” I smile back at her, and this time it's Sophie's turn to blush. Then all four of us launch into full-blown school reminiscences, talking about hated teachers and smoking behind the bike sheds. There's a cadence to this tableau; a familiarity that can only come from years of experience. It’s as comfortable as a favourite sweater and I can't help but wonder if I'm fighting against the inevitable.
“Do you remember that time we skipped school, Ames?” Luke says, turning to me. “You made me hide in your room while you did all your homework. It was worse than being in lessons.”
“It was exam year,” I protest. “I wanted to finish a couple of essays.”
“That's not what you're meant to do when you bunk off, babe.” His voice lowers. “I had to make my own fun.”
I swallow, remembering the way he kissed my neck as I tried to write a book report on Tess of the D'Urbervilles . In the end the only way I could placate him was by reading out the dirty parts.
“From what I remember, you had a lot of fun.” I roll my eyes.
“I did,” he laughs. “Who knew Dickens could be so sexy?”
“It was Hardy,” I correct him quietly.
“What?”
I clear my throat. “ Tess of the D'Urbervilles was written by Thomas Hardy, not Charles Dickens.”
Sophie collects our plates and carries them over to the sink. Turning her head, she shoots me a glance, and I know without asking exactly what she's trying to say. She wants me to be quiet. To stop showing Luke that I have a brain. She honestly believes boys prefer girls who play dumb.
Luke shrugs. “Dickens, Hardy, who gives a fuck? They're a load of dirty old men. If they were around today they'd probably be running porn sites.”
I reach out and grab my wineglass, resolutely bringing it to my lips. Sometimes it's not even worth arguing back.
“Did you see Top Gear last night?” Nick asks, thankfully changing the subject. He and Luke share a love of cars; the faster the better as far as they're concerned.
“Nah, I missed it,” Luke leans back on his chair, stretching his legs in front of him. As they launch into a discussion on the latest Bugatti, I gather up the dirty
This is a mistake. I knew it as soon as I set eyes on him. I wasn't prepared to see him and I'm certainly not ready for a full-on charm onslaught. I need to work myself up, starting with short, benign exposures.
“It's ready.” Sophie slides her hand into a pair of oven mitts and pulls the cast iron pot out of the stove. Stepping carefully, she carries the steaming dish over to the kitchen table, where she places it on the waiting mat. “Can you bring the rice over, Nick?” She takes off the lid and vapour escapes, momentarily turning the air above the table opaque. “Sit, sit.” She gestures at the two seats opposite. “Don't let it go cold.”
Glancing at Luke, I pull out my chair, smoothing my dress across my thighs. I can feel his gaze follow my movements He offers me the naan bread, holding the plate as I tear off a piece, then he tops up my glass.
It's strange, because this is all so familiar. The four of us have been sitting around tables for years. From tea with our parents to teenage pig-outs at McDonald's, we've grown up eating together.
Now it feels like the last supper.
Sophie makes small talk about her clients in the salon, telling us about an old lady who insisted she wanted a cut and blow job. I choke on a piece of lamb, and it takes Luke slamming me to dislodge it.
“You okay? You went pretty blue there for a minute.” It hasn't escaped my notice that his hand is still on my back, rubbing small circles against my spine.
“Yeah, I just need Sophie to stop making me laugh.”
“It's not the first time you've choked on a blow job,” she quips, and Luke laughs. I try not to look at him, because if I do he'll know what I'm thinking about. And I really don't want to be thinking about that .
“It beats getting caught with your knickers down in the art room.” I smile back at her, and this time it's Sophie's turn to blush. Then all four of us launch into full-blown school reminiscences, talking about hated teachers and smoking behind the bike sheds. There's a cadence to this tableau; a familiarity that can only come from years of experience. It’s as comfortable as a favourite sweater and I can't help but wonder if I'm fighting against the inevitable.
“Do you remember that time we skipped school, Ames?” Luke says, turning to me. “You made me hide in your room while you did all your homework. It was worse than being in lessons.”
“It was exam year,” I protest. “I wanted to finish a couple of essays.”
“That's not what you're meant to do when you bunk off, babe.” His voice lowers. “I had to make my own fun.”
I swallow, remembering the way he kissed my neck as I tried to write a book report on Tess of the D'Urbervilles . In the end the only way I could placate him was by reading out the dirty parts.
“From what I remember, you had a lot of fun.” I roll my eyes.
“I did,” he laughs. “Who knew Dickens could be so sexy?”
“It was Hardy,” I correct him quietly.
“What?”
I clear my throat. “ Tess of the D'Urbervilles was written by Thomas Hardy, not Charles Dickens.”
Sophie collects our plates and carries them over to the sink. Turning her head, she shoots me a glance, and I know without asking exactly what she's trying to say. She wants me to be quiet. To stop showing Luke that I have a brain. She honestly believes boys prefer girls who play dumb.
Luke shrugs. “Dickens, Hardy, who gives a fuck? They're a load of dirty old men. If they were around today they'd probably be running porn sites.”
I reach out and grab my wineglass, resolutely bringing it to my lips. Sometimes it's not even worth arguing back.
“Did you see Top Gear last night?” Nick asks, thankfully changing the subject. He and Luke share a love of cars; the faster the better as far as they're concerned.
“Nah, I missed it,” Luke leans back on his chair, stretching his legs in front of him. As they launch into a discussion on the latest Bugatti, I gather up the dirty
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