There was a laugh. He didn’t believe me. He knew damn well what I had been doing, the shit. “I’ll make another coffee.”
“Thanks.” I started to wash as quickly as possible, putting thoughts of Owen out of my head and focusing on trying to look natural as opposed to someone who had just had a rather powerful orgasm.
* * *
Skinny jeans, blue sweater, blow-dried hair and barely there make-up made me feel something close to normal. As I stepped into my lounge, I saw Owen sitting on my sofa, reading David Copperfield and drinking a coffee. There was a half-eaten Danish on a plate next to him.
“Feel better?”
I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. “There’s nothing wrong with singing in the shower,” I said, taking the other coffee and the raspberry and chocolate Danish. “It relieves a lot of stress.”
“I know something else that relieves stress,” he said, his eyes dancing dangerously.
“I bet you do.”
He grinned. “My back massages.”
I shook my head. “No way, Anders. Your blood runs south with me in a dressing gown, what would happen if you actually touched my skin? We’d have to amputate your balls.”
He winced.
“Apologies. Maybe that was too graphic.”
“A little. I can get you to relax without injuring myself though. Let’s try it later. After I’ve stalked my mother on her date.”
* * *
We started at The Tower of London, taking in the suits of armour on display and the Crown Jewels. It lent itself nicely to selfies and jokes about other sets of crown jewels and what vast amounts of blood could do to them. A tour guide overheard us and assumed that our crown jewels conversation was a sensible one, pointing out that the jewels were stored so that no bloodshed should ever disturb them. Somehow we managed to make it till we were out of earshot before we both burst out laughing.
The tube was packed, as it always was. Owen insisted we go to Borough Market for grilled cheese, and although it was close enough to where I worked for me to go there most days, his enthusiasm was such that I couldn’t say no. He then led me down the busy side street to The Shard, its glass sides reflecting the late April sun.
“Cocktails?” he said. “Or do we have to ban any reference to appendages?”
I laughed. “Cocktails are on the list of non-prohibited topics. As long as I can pay. You’ve got everything so far.”
“Fine,” he said. “I’m good with being a kept man.”
* * *
We headed to the Aqua Shard, a restaurant and bar that had natural light pouring in as well as the view of the London skyline. There was no queue, which was a nice surprise, and we managed a table next to the window.
“You’re okay with heights?” I asked Owen, who looked a little tentative as we sat down.
He nodded. “I am once I’m used to it.”
“The view’s spectacular.”
“The view I have right now is better.”
The blush that was becoming commonplace rose to my cheeks again. “That’s corny.”
“But true. And besides, the view out there is a bit too high still. I’d rather look at you for a couple of reasons.” He lounged back in his chair and studied me. “Have you chosen a cocktail?”
“A Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” I said. “Vodka and other things along with a bank loan. You?”
The dimples popped out. “A gin and tonic. Probably a double. Wouldn’t want to bankrupt you.”
A penguin-suited waiter appeared and took our order and I looked out over the city, the scent of Owen’s aftershave reminding me who I was with. “Tell me about your mum’s date and where it is. I’ll probably need to get changed.”
