‘It’s okay.’ I’m on my feet, my arms around her as she sobs silently into my chest, her body wracked with sobs. I begin to rub my palm against her back as the barman frowns in my direction, and a passing waitress slides me a filthy look as I myself suffer an episode of absolute cognitive dissonance. The woman I’ve fucked and who has subsequently been invading my dreams is pregnant, and I’ve no thoughts of being a father, yet her body against mine feels nothing but natural. As though this is the way it should be.
‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ she says through a muffled sob.
‘Of course, you didn’t.’ I cup her face, moving it from my chest so I can see her. ‘Wasn’t I in charge of the contraception?’ And I’m always so fucking careful, but that’s by the by now.
‘So, really, you did this to me,’ she complains wetly, slapping my chest with an ineffectual hand. ‘I’m going to get varicose veins and leak, and get really, really fat, and it’s all your fault.’
No plans for a termination, my mind whispers. Shouldn’t this thought be followed by a wave of panic?
‘Can we not blame fate?’ I push the damp strands of hair from her face, then slide her tears away with my thumbs. ‘Or the condom manufacturers for their pitiful ninety-nine percent effectiveness?’
‘Or even the manufacturer of dog doors. We should totally sue.’
‘I know an extremely shady barrister. I’d ask you if I should set up a meeting, but I’m afraid he might steal you away.’
She looks so forlorn yet so lovely as she laughs. And I can’t help it. I want her so much; I lower my lips to hers.
‘What are you doing?’ she whispers, her striking hand stronger now as she presses it against my chest.
‘I want to kiss you. Would that be okay?’
‘That depends.’ Her eyes narrow a touch. ‘Are you trying to comfort me?’
‘I think I just want to kiss because I want to kiss you.’
‘That’s better.’ Her smile is still a little crooked, but her hand remains.
My lips ghost hers before her answer sinks in.
‘Better?’
‘Better than I expected, anyway.’
Now it’s my time to be unsure as I feel my brow pinch.
‘Do you have such a poor opinion of me?’
A genuine smile now. ‘I was expecting you to say you wanted to kiss me as a way to get into my knickers again.’
‘Then it’ll surprise you to hear that I was actually thinking of poetry. You don’t believe me?’ I smooth my thumb across her scrunched brow. ‘It’s true. Lips that taste of tears are the best for kissing,’ I say, paraphrasing a Dorothy Parker poem. ‘I wondered if this was true.’ Before she can comment, I add, ‘But I decided it doesn’t matter because there isn’t a time when I wouldn’t enjoy kissing you.’
It’s only then her hand slackens, her eyes softening as I bring my mouth to hers in nothing more than a caress.
‘Still okay?’ Her dark painted lashes flutter over eyes the colour of treacle, her tongue darting out as though to taste the kiss.
‘I’m not sure what we’re doing.’
‘Do we have to be certain?’
‘We might have one more person to consider...’
I steal her words with another kiss, one that’s soft and lingering. A lightning rod to distract her attentions or a need caused by those words, I can’t be sure. All I know is I want to kiss her. Hold her. Have her.
‘Come home with me tonight.’ Her eyes are no longer like treacle but dark molasses as I pull back, ghosting my lips over hers.
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
‘We could talk about... things.’ Or we could fuck.
