and Jen’s relationship. I don’t care about Matt and Jen’s relationship, full stop. I care about you.’
‘Really?’ I said.
Astonishment flashed across his face. ‘Yeah, course. Why do you sound so surprised?’
I managed to stop ‘Because you’re a tart’ leaving my mouth and shrugged instead.
‘In the past three years you’ve become my best girl friend. You’ve listened to me, given me advice, taken care of me through some difficult times, even though I’ve done hardly anything for you in return. So, yes, I care about you.
‘Friday night, I was planning on telling you how I felt, then leaving you to decide what to do next. But when I was sat there, I couldn’t think of what to say. I’ve talked to you for over three years but I was struggling to find the right words, so I kissed you instead. And that led to . . . you know. When I woke up the next morning and you were gone, I panicked. I thought I’d screwed it up with you.’
‘And that’s not the alcohol talking?’ I asked. The alcohol and the desire to get your leg over tonight.
‘Yes, it’s a bit to do with being pissed, but it’s also to do with never having chased a woman for eleven months before. I usually give up after two months. Three months if she’s really special.’
‘You’ve been after me for eleven months? Yeah, right,’ I scoffed.
Greg leant back a little, rocking gently on the heels of his brown suede shoes, folded his arms across his chest, amusement danced in his eyes. ‘You know, from anyone else, I’d think they were being coy, from you, I know you’re being serious.’
‘Oi, gitface, that sounds like an insult.’
‘There are only so many “I’m bored, can I come over?” text messages you can send a girl before she either thinks you fancy her or you’re stalking her.’
‘I thought you were being friendly,’ I replied. ‘We are friends.’
‘OK. What about the millions of times I’ve turned up at work to take you to lunch? Or invited myself over for dinner? Didn’t you say on Friday that I practically live here?’
‘I just thought . . .’ My voice faded. All right, when you knew, it was obvious. If a friend had been telling me about his behaviour, I would’ve said, ‘He fancies you!’ but it’s different when it’s you. Different when it’s me and Greg.
‘I practically had to send you an email to tell you I was going to kiss you.’
‘I don’t think like that,’ I offered lamely.
‘I know, and that’s one of the many reasons why I like you.’ He moved closer. ‘Amber, just to let you know, I’m going to kiss you. Right . . . about . . . now.’
In the morning light, I was compelled to cover myself up. I felt . . . naked. I was naked. But this was different naked. Sex was naked naked. Morning after was emotionally naked, bare and exposed.
Greg knew me, but now he knew more of me. He knew how I moved during sex; he knew what noises I made when I came; how my face contorted. He knew a lot more of me, and I wasn’t sure I liked that.
‘I take it you’re not going to work, either,’ Greg said.
‘Either?’ I replied.
‘I booked today off, I knew it’d be a write-off day.’
‘That was clever.’ That meant he was staying. Possibly all day. It wasn’t that I wanted him to go, I simply wasn’t sure I wanted him to stay, either. ‘I’ll have to wait until ten to call in.’
‘And after that?’ Greg’s peering through the gloom under the duvet tainted everything with expectation.
‘After that, what?’
‘Do you want me to leave?’
‘Why, do you want to leave?’
‘I could lie here naked with you all day.’
I’ll take that as a no, then.
It was too close under the duvet: stale sweat and alcohol fumes made the air rancid and sickly. I pushed away the duvet to let fresher air in but immediately cringed away from the light. Greg spooned up against me, his body curved around mine like a second skin and plump, Jelly Baby lips planted a kiss
‘Really?’ I said.
Astonishment flashed across his face. ‘Yeah, course. Why do you sound so surprised?’
I managed to stop ‘Because you’re a tart’ leaving my mouth and shrugged instead.
‘In the past three years you’ve become my best girl friend. You’ve listened to me, given me advice, taken care of me through some difficult times, even though I’ve done hardly anything for you in return. So, yes, I care about you.
‘Friday night, I was planning on telling you how I felt, then leaving you to decide what to do next. But when I was sat there, I couldn’t think of what to say. I’ve talked to you for over three years but I was struggling to find the right words, so I kissed you instead. And that led to . . . you know. When I woke up the next morning and you were gone, I panicked. I thought I’d screwed it up with you.’
‘And that’s not the alcohol talking?’ I asked. The alcohol and the desire to get your leg over tonight.
‘Yes, it’s a bit to do with being pissed, but it’s also to do with never having chased a woman for eleven months before. I usually give up after two months. Three months if she’s really special.’
‘You’ve been after me for eleven months? Yeah, right,’ I scoffed.
Greg leant back a little, rocking gently on the heels of his brown suede shoes, folded his arms across his chest, amusement danced in his eyes. ‘You know, from anyone else, I’d think they were being coy, from you, I know you’re being serious.’
‘Oi, gitface, that sounds like an insult.’
‘There are only so many “I’m bored, can I come over?” text messages you can send a girl before she either thinks you fancy her or you’re stalking her.’
‘I thought you were being friendly,’ I replied. ‘We are friends.’
‘OK. What about the millions of times I’ve turned up at work to take you to lunch? Or invited myself over for dinner? Didn’t you say on Friday that I practically live here?’
‘I just thought . . .’ My voice faded. All right, when you knew, it was obvious. If a friend had been telling me about his behaviour, I would’ve said, ‘He fancies you!’ but it’s different when it’s you. Different when it’s me and Greg.
‘I practically had to send you an email to tell you I was going to kiss you.’
‘I don’t think like that,’ I offered lamely.
‘I know, and that’s one of the many reasons why I like you.’ He moved closer. ‘Amber, just to let you know, I’m going to kiss you. Right . . . about . . . now.’
In the morning light, I was compelled to cover myself up. I felt . . . naked. I was naked. But this was different naked. Sex was naked naked. Morning after was emotionally naked, bare and exposed.
Greg knew me, but now he knew more of me. He knew how I moved during sex; he knew what noises I made when I came; how my face contorted. He knew a lot more of me, and I wasn’t sure I liked that.
‘I take it you’re not going to work, either,’ Greg said.
‘Either?’ I replied.
‘I booked today off, I knew it’d be a write-off day.’
‘That was clever.’ That meant he was staying. Possibly all day. It wasn’t that I wanted him to go, I simply wasn’t sure I wanted him to stay, either. ‘I’ll have to wait until ten to call in.’
‘And after that?’ Greg’s peering through the gloom under the duvet tainted everything with expectation.
‘After that, what?’
‘Do you want me to leave?’
‘Why, do you want to leave?’
‘I could lie here naked with you all day.’
I’ll take that as a no, then.
It was too close under the duvet: stale sweat and alcohol fumes made the air rancid and sickly. I pushed away the duvet to let fresher air in but immediately cringed away from the light. Greg spooned up against me, his body curved around mine like a second skin and plump, Jelly Baby lips planted a kiss
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