‘My guess is that you are feeling a bit disoriented after what happened last night. And maybe . . . uncomfortable, even, with the thought of starting a relationship. Am I right?’
He has hit the nail on the head. I nod. ‘And it’s not because I want to go off seeing other men. It’s because—’
‘You don’t have to explain. I get it.’
We’re silent for a moment as I look up at the sky and lose myself momentarily in the clouds. He turns to me again.
‘Please don’t hate me for saying this, though.’
‘What?’ I look back at him.
‘That I understand where your head is and I fully respect all of your boundaries. But by the same token . . .’ He drops his gaze to my mouth before the next words come out. ‘Every time I look at you, all I want to do is kiss you.’
The air between us seems to shift. Everything around us slows. I look at his parted lips, then raise my gaze up to his eyes, overcome by the unbearable and exquisite intensity of the moment.
‘Well, on that particular issue, the feeling is mutual,’ I confess quietly.
He exhales into a smile and reaches up to move a loose tendril of hair from my eyes. ‘You’re so gorgeous.’
‘Hardly.’
‘Oh, no. You absolutelyare,’ he says. Then he rests his hand on my neck and caresses my skin with his thumb, gazing into my eyes. Simultaneously, we move in, until his lips are touching mine, the sheerest of kisses. It melts through me like liquid amnesia, temporarily obliterating every worry in the world. And, although I don’t say it out loud, in the back of my head I realise there is only one way to reconcile my physical feelings with what I know I’m emotionally capable of towards Sam. There is no point in fighting it anymore. Nora got it exactly right.
Friends with benefits it is, then.
Chapter 41
You’d be amazed at the spectrum of results that comes up when you google the words, ‘How to dump someone in the nicest way possible’. Some say, ‘Be short and firm’. Others advocate a five- to seven-sentence summary of the things he’s done wrong. Everyone agrees that lying, ghosting or doing it via WhatsApp is unacceptable, which even someone with my lack of experience didn’t need to be told.
In the event, I arrange to meet Gavin at the members’ lounge of his gym the day after I get back from La Manga, my thinking being that it is the place he’s most comfortable. I feel like I owe him that much. Even as I’m heading inside, I start to question my own logic and wonder if I’m about to ruin his ‘happy place’ forever. I decide to go through with it anyway on the basis that: a) I’m here now and b) while I’m not expecting him to make a scene, the prospect of any ofhis ladieswalking past would be an added disincentive should the urge arise.
I arrive early and order a coffee, before taking a seat overlooking the swimming pool. I open the copy ofThe Inner Game of Tennis, which I finally started on the plane on the way home. The key message seems to be that the secret to winning any game lies in not trying too hard. Even if I wasn’t sceptical about this, I am the kind of person who would have to try very hard not to try too hard. It doesn’t take a genius to work out the problem with that.
But I can’t fully focus on the words because, as well as being as nice as possible while I am undertaking this task,my second most pressing concern is what the hell is going to happen to the Wimbledon tickets Gavin has bought for
4 July?
From what I’ve read, they are strictly non-transferable, though I think there’s a way of getting a refund if you return them. I’m contemplating the ethics behind dumping Gavin and then immediately running through the terms and conditions I found online, when he appears at the door. Even before he’s made his way over, I think he realises things aren’t quite as they should be.
‘You’re not wearing your gym gear,’ he says, sitting down.
‘No,’ I confess, guiltily. ‘I was really just hoping we could have a chat.’
I offer him a coffee, but when he declines, all that’s left is for us to get straight down to business.
‘Gavin, here’s the thing—’
‘This is not really working, is it?’ he says, before I can get my sentence out. ‘You and me, I mean.’
I open my mouth, hesitating before I answer, ‘No.’
‘I’ve thought about this a lot lately, Jules. Look, I really like you. You’re a lovely lady. So this is very difficult, but . . . well, I think we need to call this a day. I’m very sorry.’
I lean in, astonished. ‘I . . . do you?’
He nods. ‘I’m afraid I get the impression that you’re not really interested in a relationship that’s . . .intimate. Am I right?’
‘Well, I—’
