The bathroom door opens, breaking my musing, and I look up to see Adrian standing there. He’s fully dressed and clutching his washbag as if about to go to battle. I suddenly remember last night and essay a cautious smile. “Hey. You’re up already.”
“Obviously.” He marches towards the wardrobe.
I try to repress my sigh. “Are you still mad about last night?”
“What do you think?” He spins to face me. He’s a handsome man with thick, dark hair, but his looks are a little spoiled by the peevish expression on his face at the moment.
Actually, he often wears this particular expression. I hadn’t realised it when he first asked me out. I was too busy marvelling at the fact that my boss at the research institute where I work wanted to be with me.
I try again. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to have sex. I think I had too much to drink.”
“That’s an excuse,” he snaps.
I blink at the anger in his voice. “I don’t think that’s true,” I say mildly. He’s obviously spoiling for a fight, but he’ll have to go wanting. It’s too early in the morning for fireworks.
He puts his hands on his hips. “Oh, really? It was all hot and heavy flirting back at work, so I brought you away for a few days and we haven’t even fucked yet. If I’d wanted to be a eunuch, I’d have cut off my dick.”
“Instead of just acting like one?” I say calmly.
“How witty. I think I just broke a rib laughing.”
I shrug, tossing the sheet to one side, leaving me naked on the mattress. “Well, if you’re that cross about it, let’s do it now.”
He ignores me and carries on talking. “I’m beginning to think you’re being a pricktease with me because usually you’ll shag anyone.”
“Well,yourwindow of opportunity is closing rapidly.”
He stares at me, and I shift awkwardly under his fixed regard. “Sex isn’t the real problem, though, Cary, is it?” he says in what I privately term his teacher voice.
“I have an uneasy feeling that you’re going to enlighten me as to what is,” I say wearily.
He gestures at me. “You’re a fantastic-looking bloke. You’re clever and funny and could make flirtation an Olympic sport.”
“Are any of those character defects? I’m thinking yes, judging by your expression.”
“But it’s all just a surface appeal. It’s like being with a shop mannequin.”
“Well-dressed and able to bend in inhuman-like positions?”
My stab at humour fails and his glare intensifies. “Ah, there’s the flippancy. Welcome, my old friend.”
I sigh. “Adrian, I have a hangover, and the concept of deep thought makes me feel like throwing up. What is the problem? Maybe we can fix it.”
He shakes his head, and I watch as he opens the wardrobe and drags out his suitcase. “Don’t bother. It’s like communicating with someone through a pane of glass.”
“Pardon?”
He throws his clothes and shoes into the case and then spins to open a drawer, adding his underwear to the messy pile. “You’re just so removed from everything. You don’t give a shit.”
“Well, obviously, this is all my fault. It’s not you. It’s me.”
He fastens the case and turns to me. “I’ve never had any complaints in my other relationships.”
“Maybe all of your men share a taste for judgemental soliloquies and mental torture. I’ll have to switch Channel Five on and test the theory.”
He looks at me almost pityingly. “You’re ice through to the bone.”
“Oh dear. Is this going in my appraisal?” I say lightly.
