‘Oh, yes. He told me he is looking forward to it,’ he replies, a small smile playing on his lips.
Did he?A shiver of unease rolls through me as I didn’t hear Charlie say anything of the sort.
‘Supper will be at six thirty sharp in the dining room.’
I nod, and Dr Dryden bids me good day, leaving me to my thoughts and mounting fears. Thankfully, the thickcurtains are open in this room, and a shaft of sunlight reveals a pretty bedroom decorated with rose wallpaper and a large comfortable bed with a cream satin coverlet. But the lovely room does nothing to reassure me after the encounter I’ve just had with Charlie. I sit there on the bed, clutching my suitcase with trembling hands. What on earth has Aunt Ivy got me into?
Chapter 9
Damian | Edinburgh, present day
Exactly what took place after my date with Florence at The Brief Encounter is a blank. I can remember drinking whisky and chatting about books, then leaving the bar with her. The last memory I have is of us catching the bus together. I must have come home and passed out. Now I’ve woken up in the late afternoon with a thumping hangover. What a lightweight.
But when I retrieve my coat, which has been flung on the floor, I find a box of condoms and a Sainsbury’s receipt in the pocket. The box is sealed, so it’s unlikely that we had sex. Yet I can’t remember buying them.
When I’m in the shower, I discover another inexplicable thing: a medium-sized purple bruise on my left upper thigh with two small blood-encrusted wounds in the centre of it. Flea bites? From someone’s dog in the bar last night? I must’ve been scratching them in my sleep.
But as I soap the bruise, Florence’s face springs to mind for some reason, and I start feeling aroused. Sliding myslippery hand onto my stiff cock, I stroke lazily, picturing her parted glossy lips and her darting tongue circling my head. The image of her eagerly sucking while I grind my hips is so vivid that I come hard, shuddering against the shower wall.
After that, I decide I don’t want to wait three days before messaging in my usual ‘playing hard to get’ fashion—not when I’m this attracted to her. But tonight is way too soon for another date. I need to let it breathe a little. What about tomorrow? Would she freak out if I invited her to my parents’ place for Sunday lunch? We could come back to mine afterwards ...
I eagerly type a message as soon as I’m out of the shower. But it’s much too long. I need to word it properly. By the time I send it after dinner, it’s gone through several iterations. The final version being:
Hey Florence, I had a great time last night. Bit forward maybe, but any chance you’re around tomorrow? I’m heading to my parents’ for Sunday lunch at noon, but if you fancied joining, you’d be very welcome. Totally get it if that feels like too much. We could always hang out after instead? No pressure either way. Let meknow :) D
Notexpecting a reply straightaway, I throw my phone on the couch and run a hand shakily through my hair. My dick is tenting my joggers and throbbing like crazy again. What is it about this woman? She’s driving me to distraction.
It’s times like these that I wish I lived with a male flatmate. At least I could blow off steam by forgetting about her and going out to the pub with him for a pint. But my job pays well, and I easily saved a deposit for this basic top-floor two-bedroom flat in Leith Walk, and I have a minimal mortgage. So I don’t need a flatmate. Perhaps I should get one ...
My phone buzzes, and I take a flying leap onto the couch, but it’s fallen down the back behind the cushions. Fuck,fuck!Panting, I scrabble for it. When I see the message from Florence, a grin spreads across my face.
Who’s going to be at this Sunday lunch?
I waste no time in typing a reply.
My parents, my brother and his girlfriend, that’s all. Oh and Bitsy, my mum’s Bichon Frisé.
I add the last member of the party as a joke, but it’s alsotactical. Women love cute little balls of fluff, so I’m hoping she’ll be more keen to go now. But I wish I hadn’t said anything when I receive her reply.
I’d love to but I’m not great with dogs. It could be an issue. Sorry, I just don’t want to cause any trouble.
Am I an idiot? Of course not all women like dogs, even cute little balls of fluff. She could be allergic or have a phobia! My thumbs fly over my phone.
Honestly, she’s only tiny and very well behaved. We can put her in the laundry if it’s a problem? Would really love it if you could be there. You’d be saving me from being the fifth wheel once again (sad emoji)
Face flaming, knowing I’m pushing the second date boundaries to the limit by using emotional blackmail, I wait in anticipation. Minutes tick by, and I consider jerking off just to relieve the tension but can’t bring myself to. Finally, after having made a cup of tea, ordering my groceries online, and watching two episodes of a Netflix show, I get a response.
OK, I’ll come to Sunday lunch with you, Dr Rhodes.As long as Bitsy doesn’t mind going in the laundry. F x
I cheer aloud, do a fist pump, and then reply in a cool, calm, collected manner.
Great. Looking forward to it. D x
Chapter 10
Florence | Edinburgh, present day
Call it a blessing, a curse, or a happy accident, but it appears I gave Damian apartialmemory wipe. I got a bit of shock when he messaged after the flat meeting. He seems to still remember we went on a date but didn’t mention anything about the biting, bloodsucking, and fangs—huzzah!
