He doesn’t reply.
‘But if it helps?’ I smile faintly. ‘I don’t think our friends will ever be his friends.’
‘No, they all think he’s a twat,’ he says, shooting me a wink and swigging again from his glass.
The hours pass, and we get drunker. Lawrence hasn’t called. Outside, the night is a forest of falling rain.
‘So, what is the sex like, with you and him?’ Josh asks, shaking the last drops of brandy from the bottle. ‘Just out of interest.’
‘Nope. Not going there.’
‘Don’t be shy. You’ve told me everything else. Plus, we’re so drunk. I won’t remember in the morning.’
I skin my throat with more booze. ‘The sex is fine, thanks.’
‘Come on, Rach. I can take it.’ He shrugs, wildly. ‘We are where we are, right?’
‘Okay. Well, sometimes it feels like we’re not in sync. Emotionally, not—’
‘—rhythmically. Right.’
To Josh’s credit, he doesn’t immediately begin shit-talking Lawrence, even though I’ve handed him the opportunity on a plate.
‘Sometimes, it feels like we’re just... shagging. You know? I mean, don’t get me wrong. That can be okay.’
‘Like when you just want—’
‘—a shag. Exactly. But Lawrence only really has... that one gear. If you know what I mean.’ I glance up, and as Josh’s eyes latch to mine I feel something bright streak through me. A lightning bolt in my bloodstream.
‘I do, actually,’ he says.
‘Please don’t look at me like that.’
Smiling softly, he runs a hand along his jaw, lamplight pooling against his bare arms. ‘Okay. But just so you know? I have...somany gears.’
Outside, icy ribbons of rain hound the windows.
‘Josh, if we—’
‘One time only. No strings. We’re drunk.’
I nod and bite my lip. All logic and principles begin to warp and buckle in the heat of his gaze. ‘And we are still married.’
‘Right. I mean, does it even technically count?’
‘Plus, we’re on a break. Lawrence and me.’
‘And he does only have one gear.’
At last he leans over and kisses me, andGod, the familiar and delicious pressure of it, the heat of his palm on the back of my neck, the dizzying clasp of his mouth on mine. His tongue tastes sweet and ripe from the brandy. Our breath quickens, and I move in closer, not wanting an atom of space to remain between us.
His hand strays to my still-damp hair, then inside the T-shirt he has lent me, fingers teasing my rapidly warming skin. I run a hand over his muscles, feel them shudder and flex with mytouch. And it is like falling into a thunderstorm, all electricity and shifting cells and crackling heat.
When eventually he moves to tease away my joggers, I inhale sharply, hesitate. ‘Wait. We should keep our clothes on.’
In my head, I am reasoning – albeit with drunk-person logic – that if we’re not naked it makes what we are doing less reprehensible, somehow. But I also can’t deny I like the idea of it: fucking each other fast, clothes and underwear lowered just enough, like we might get caught at any moment.
‘So, you do just want a shag?’ Josh breathes, but his eyes are animated, as though he’s down with that if I am.
