His eyes slam shut as if he’s seen something he shouldn’t, then releases a steady breath. ‘My conversational skills are probably going to go downhill from here. Just a warning.’
A warm buzz erupts in my chest, which I can only assume is something close to pride. That I have such an effect on him. It feels strangely powerful.
‘That’s fine.’
He forces his eyes back open and his eyes pierce mine. ‘So, when are we going out?’
‘Oh.’ I blink with surprise at his directness. ‘Um, whenever. My next few weeks are pretty quiet.’
‘Me too,’ he says. ‘I can come to Brighton if you want to avoid the London crowds.’
‘Arguably, I would have to suck it up and do it at some point.’
‘Well, when you do we’ll just do whatever you need. I’m guessing you can’t do the underground?’
I shake my head bashfully.
‘That’s fine,’ he says with confidence. ‘We’ll walk.’
I scoff with laughter. ‘London is massive–’
‘We’llwalk,’ he insists. ‘Or get a cab or a bus or whatever it is you want to do.’
I chew lightly on my bottom lip. ‘Thank you.’
‘No thanks necessary,’ he says in a firm tone. ‘But I’ll come to Brighton first, if that’s what you want.’
‘Yeah,’ I reply with a grin. ‘Sounds perfect.’
‘Okay, next week then?’
‘Next week.’ I’m having trouble wiping the beaming smile off my face. ‘Okay, now jeans,’ I add, feeling brave.
He agrees, then stands to takes them off as gracefully as one can take off jeans in a small tent. I avert my gaze from his black briefs as he sits back down.
‘Your turn,’ he says matter-of-factly.
A part of me wants to berate myself for only owning comfortable pants, as I reveal them from underneath my shorts. Instinctively I want to cover myself, but his reaction stops me: his eyelids grow heavier and his gaze is deliberately slow as it travels over me.
I gulp. The air in the tent suddenly feels stiflingly hot.
‘How are you… uh, feeling?’ he asks.
‘Okay.’ My voice sounds low and vaguely unfamiliar. ‘A bit hungry, actually. I’m not sure when I last ate.’
He snaps to attention. ‘That can be remedied.’ He reaches for his jeans and retrieves something from the pocket. My jaw drops with delight.
‘Oh thank God,strawberry laces.’ I launch myself towards them as he tears open the bag, and nearly find myself in his lap.
‘Whoa, easy,’ he laughs, then pulls one out of the bag and offers it to me. I take it gratefully and he throws the bag down next to us.
‘Aren’t you having one?’ I ask with confusion.
‘I’m not really a strawberry lace person,’ he says with a shrug. ‘They were for emergencies.’
‘Hennie told you about my sweet tooth after panic attacks,’ I say with an understanding nod. My heart hums with gratitude at the small, yet great, act of service.
‘Yeah. These were all I could find, sadly.’
