‘Sonot,’ I tell him. ‘You enjoy yourself and I’ll get ready while you’re out. It’s bad enough being awake at this ungodly hour, I’m notexercising.’
I have to say I do enjoy watching him walk out of the door because his legs are very nicely muscled – wasted in trousers in fact.
As the door closes, I feel my eyelids growing heavy again and I’m very tempted to allow myself to drift off to sleep. But not as tempted, I realise suddenly, as I am to make the most of being in the bathroom without feeling a little on edge because Dominic’s just outside.
On that thought, I hop straight out of bed.
I cannotbelievewhen I get into the bathroom how much I like the fact that I can smell that foresty scent again. I don’twantto be liking things about sharing a room with Dominic; that’s madness.
* * *
We’re leaving after breakfast to drive out to the game reserve where we’ll be going on safari today and tomorrow before heading back here tomorrow night for New Year celebrations.
As I’m packing my case, Dominic arrives back. He’s a little sweaty, which I am ashamed (and also very surprised) to say I find very attractive. Like I’ve suddenly gone all cavewoman and like my men super macho.My men? What am I thinking? Certainlynotmy man.
And now, even though I am a grown woman rather than a teenager, and have obviously seen a lot of men, and their muscles, before, I’m feeling very self-conscious being around Dominic in his running gear, like I don’t know where to place my eyes because every time I even glance in his direction all I can see is hard planes and muscles, and all I can think about is… stuff I should really not be thinking about with Dominic Rock.
‘Why don’t I give you some space?’ I suggest.
And then I’m straight out of the door.
I’m down the corridor and into the lift before I start to feel normal again.
It’s really getting to me in a strange way, this whole room-sharing thing. I presume we’ll be doing it for the next two nights as well. Hopefully I’ll get used to it very soon. I mean, I’m sure this is a natural reaction and not Dominic-specific. It’s obviously a weird situation when you think about it. Men and women who barely know each other really don’t share rooms very often. That’s why it’s having such an effect on me.
Judith and a couple of the others from the group are already in the dining room having breakfast, so I join their group and just wave to Dominic when he comes in.
Weirdly, I can pick out his low voice much better than anyone else’s in the room, not the individual words that he’s saying, but the rumble of it, and when I hear him laugh I really want to look round and see what’s so funny. I obviously don’t want to be rude, though, so I make a big effort to focus on the people at my table rather than peering over my shoulder.
When we’ve all finished (well, everyone except Mike, which he mentionsveryloudly – he wanted to sample a bit of every single thing on the remarkably extensive buffet table and is very annoyed to be dragged away before he’s achieved his goal – it’s actually very surprising how in-shape he looks given how much he eats – he must do a lot of running), Maxim herds us outside and onto a souped-up minibus. (Our luggage has already been loaded for us.)
Maxim tells us that previous trips have taught them that grown adults, often of quite mature years, are capable of descending to playground levels of meanness and misery when it comes to choosing seats on coaches, so in order to avoid anyone getting upset they’ve allocated seats and there will be no arguments.
Dominic and I have, naturally, been seated next to each other. Apparently we are going to be treated like an old married couple for the entire duration of this trip.
We are initially very polite to each other, each offering the other the window seat (Ireallywant it but don’t feel I should say so, so am extremely pleased when Dominic trumps my ‘noyoutake it’ by pointing out that he needs to use the aisle for extra leg room), but we soon descend into old-married-couple-style bickering, when I offer Dominic a mint.
‘You know they’rereallybad for you,’ he says.
‘They can’t bethatbad; they’re tiny.’
‘Erm what about poison? A tiny amount can kill you?’
‘They aren’t poison, though?’ I point out. ‘They’re minty sweets. They don’t kill people.’
‘They’re very sugary. And contain a lot of chemicals.’
I put one on my palm and look at it. ‘How much sugar can you get in there? Also, it isn’t real sugar.’
‘I know. The fake stuff is worse for you.’
‘I’ll eat lots of fruit and veg later.’ I put the mint very deliberately into my mouth. ‘Mmmm, that isnice.’
‘I am so un-tempted,’ Dominic tells me.
I shake my head. ‘You know if you eattoohealthily you miss out on a lot of very, very good life experiences. Even the man who invented the ZOE food thing eats crisps.’
‘Crisps are fine in moderation when they’re just potatoes, oil and a bit of salt.’
