This is excruciating. He’s got such a sexy voice, and I am so involved in this romantic tale about a handsome footman and a shy maid. My body is becoming engulfed in a warm sensation. I want to knock down the pillow wall and kiss him. That would lead to sex. I might be a virgin, but I’m not a complete novice. I know how things work. Sam and I accomplished a few things, but we never had the chance to see it through.
I am still a virgin, though. Not only that, but I am a virgin with a curse.
My heart sinks. I’m like the unicorn of the modern dating world – a rare, mythical creature that no one believes exists.
Oh, God, he’s not going to find me attractive.
What am I doing?
He’s a romance author. Intimacy will be his speciality. Romance authors enjoy crafting spicy scenes. He’s probably used to experienced women in bed. Damn my stupid curse.
I can’t do this.
‘Are you tired, Nelly?’
‘Yes.’
‘Goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight.’
37
It’s early morning. He is still asleep, so I have decided to take a shower. As I dunk my head under cooling jets of water, I recall our lovely picnic and how my overthinking got the better of me.
Having strong feelings for Oliver and not knowing how it will end between us is frustrating. I have nothing concrete to rely on. I now have a newfound appreciation for ordinary people who enter relationships, flings, situationships, and affairs without spoiler alerts. They must navigate dating blindly, hoping that their time, effort, emotions and sanity are not wasted when it ends.
Once I have washed my hair, applied an excessive amount of Tropical Burst Shower Foam to my body and rinsed it off, I step out of the shower and dry myself.
After wrapping my hair in a towel, I put on my dressing gown and notice that the cord is missing. Blast – it’s probably escaped. I pull my robe around me and open the bathroom door. The sight of him standing in the hallway makes me gasp. He’s removed his pyjama top, leaving him bare-chested, wearing only his striped pyjama bottoms, and his towel is tucked under his arm. My eyes dart to his beautiful broad chest. It’s a rich caramel colour and nearly hairless. I want to reach out and run my fingers over his pecs. His dark hair is messy and sexy, and those pyjama bottoms of his are riding low on his hips.
He’s staring at me with a newfound intensity. Ripples of warmth are spreading over my body. His eyes shift from my face and glide down my body. I observe them widen in surprise, and then he swiftly covers his eyes with his hand.
My heart grinds to a halt, and I gasp.
My arms are by my sides and… my dressing gown is gaping open like a curtain call at the worst possible theatre.
Oh, God, what have I done?
My face is on fire. This is so embarrassing. I have been a stranger to hair removal cream for some time. I dread to think what images are going through his head right now; a thick, dense forest perhaps?
‘I didn’t see anything,’ he says, still with his hands over his eyes.
With a yelp, I race past him, get dressed in record time and leave the flat.
On my way to work, I pop in my earbuds and frantically search for a song to soothe my shocked state. I need something dramatic about showing far too much of yourself in front of a handsome flatmate. Sadly, music doesn’t come to my rescue in my hour of need.
Miranda hurries over to me when I enter the bookshop.
Today, she’s wearing a short metallic silver skirt and a red-and-white pinstriped shirt.
‘I’ve joined a dating app. Things are going to heat up.’
‘What?’ I stare at her in shock. Where’s the suffering? The pain that takes months to alleviate? Where’s the anger that causes her to cut up all his clothes? ‘Miranda – are you okay?’
She nods. ‘Never been better. My relationship with Frank went past its sell-by date years ago. It’s time for me to move on. He has done me a favour. I’m going to enjoy myself.’ With a cackle of laughter, she walks off to the romance section and picks up one of the new spicy romance books that has arrived in stock.
Henry enters the shop mid-morning, carrying a bunch of flowers. It looks like he’s tamed his mass of black curls. He’s wearing a fitted blue shirt and beige jeans. ‘These are for you,’ he says. ‘I felt like I said something wrong the other day and I don’t want to lose your friendship again.’
