“Ah. How was it?”
I laugh. “Stale.”
Together we sink onto the mattress. Or, at least, we try to, before it becomes apparent that the bed frame represents something of a death wish to the coccyx.
Joel grimaces bravely. “Oh, they really don’t want you to lie in here, do they?”
“I’m sorry. This place is worse than I thought. Barely worth half a star.”
He tries and fails to indent the mattress with his palm. “No, you’rebeing too harsh. This, for example, is a very handy feature. Saves setting an alarm for the morning, see?”
The bed’s really two singles—the hen party was an odd number, and when the maid of honor asked, I said I didn’t mind not sharing. So I’ve pushed them together, which has only made the setup feel even more shambolic than it did before.
I survey the room again. “Urgh, easily the most soulless place I’ve ever stayed. Are those curtains...plastic?”
“Now,soullessis a tad unfair.” He leans over to kiss me. “Wait here a moment. Don’t drink all the UHT milk. Be back in two secs.”
•••
Fifteen minutes later he returns, sticks his head around the door.
“Shut your eyes. That UHT had better be where I left it.”
I laugh and comply, moving my hands to my face so I’m not tempted to peek. My senses sharpen as I feel his footsteps, hear the bite of a lighter and a tap released. Then follows the sound of something tearing, a tinny trickle of music. Finally a click, and behind my eyelids, nightfall.
“Okay. Open your eyes.”
There are tea-lights on the desk now, a wonky bunch of flowers in a mug. Music’s playing low on his phone, and in his hand a champagne bottle is ready to pop. He shrugs sweetly. “Turns out the soul’s self-service.”
“How did you...?”
“Well, I stole the tea-lights from the dining room. But I bought the champagne, then asked a friendly maintenance man if he’d care to donate his lighter to the good cause of romance. Oh, and I swiped the flowers from the lobby.” He winks. “Because who doesn’t love a nylon carnation? Sorry—they’re a bit dusty.”
I’m not sure if anyone’s ever made me laugh and cry at the same time, but that’s what I’m doing as I climb off the bed and go over to him, roping his waist with my arms. “You’ve just turned the worst night ever into the best night ever.”
Our faces are close now. We’re almost-but-not-quite kissing.
“Want to make it even better?” he whispers.
“Yes.” The word is molten on my tongue. “I really, really do.”
He bends to kiss me, and it’s a kiss that’s full of fireworks, of weeks-long anticipation. Now, exhilaratingly, both our bodies are on fast-forward—in an instant our hands are everywhere, grasping at limbs and pulling off clothing and tugging at hair. Fully charged, we undress in what seems like seconds before collapsing in a tangle on our cobbled-together bed. And now he’s peeling back the silk of my underwear before that final dizzying moment—after so many weeks of waiting—that I know we’ve both been anticipating for so long.
“Callie,” he gasps, his face against mine, “you’re everything to me.”
“You are to me too,” I breathe back, spun over with ecstasy. I want to tell him I love him—because I do, I’ve known it for weeks—but instead I shut my eyes, feel him start to move inside me, and right here, right now, this is everything I ever wanted.
46.
Joel
Oh, no. Rufus hates Valentine’s too.” Callie laughs as Iris’s dog cocks his leg against a bus shelter. The poster on it is advertising a rom-com film, release date February 14.
“Why? Who else hates Valentine’s?” I ask.
“Only everyone I know, fanatically.”
“Fanatical hate. Sounds reasonable. Why, again?”
