He leans against the doorframe, crossing one foot over the other, arms folded. A door below closes, followed by the sound of a key locking.
‘I have to head back. In the morning,’ he says.
‘Is everything OK? Georgia…’
‘She’s fine. More than fine, actually.’ He stills, a line forming between his eyebrows. ‘I just need to get back. End of term stuff.’
‘Oh.’
‘You’ve got it from here?’
I try to smile, but something is knotting itself in my chest.
‘Yeah. Almost there now.’
I can’t meet his eyes; instead, I focus on the lamp behind him, the towel hanging on the back of a chair, the edge of the bed, duvet thrown back.
‘Can I—’ my hand drops from the doorknob ‘—come in?’
He scratches the back of his neck, jaw ticking. Then his shoulders drop, like he knows this is a bad idea but is letting me in regardless. He steps aside.
The room is smaller than mine and it smells like toothpaste, shower gel and Spence. The same as he’s always smelt. Safe. Warm. Him.
I sit on the edge of the bed, aware that I’m still in just a white shirt. My legs bare. No underwear except the pair of blackknickers I’d grabbed in M&S. Outside, a siren goes off in the distance. His eyes follow the sound then land back on me. He sighs, then sits down next to me.
‘Why are you here, Al?’
‘I… I don’t know. Couldn’t sleep.’
‘You’ve said that already.’
I reach for his hand, my fingers skating across his wrist, soft, dark hair running along the tendons. I run my thumb around the imprint of his watch. When I look back up, something shifts, like the world has tilted on its axis.
His eyes darken, the air thick.
I don’t know who moves first, me or him. All I know, as his mouth meets mine, is that something sparks deep inside, a heat rising, expanding, like I’ve been struggling to breathe and now there is so much oxygen I’m drowning in it. I clutch the back of his hair as his body leans into mine. My back sinks against the bed, his hand is gripping mine above my head, his thumb running up along my ribcage as his mouth finds mine. Everything else, the room, the sounds, fall away into the background. I’m consumed with a deep ache that feels familiar, like it’s been there all along, hiding in plain sight.
My fingers pull at the base of his T-shirt, and he yanks it over his head, impatient. His shoulders are firm beneath my touch; my fingers run through the dark hair along the planes of his chest. I begin fumbling with the buttons of my shirt, needing to feel his skin on mine, a deep pull in the pit of my stomach as I reach for the band of his shorts.
But his hand clamps around mine. Stopping them.
He pulls back, breathing hard. ‘Wait.’
I can still taste him on my lips. Feel the imprint of his hands on my wrist as he steps back. ‘I… can’t do this, Al.’
I don’t move. The room suddenly feels too cold.
‘Not again.’
43
SPENCE
I’m trying not to look at the way her hair is fanned out around her like a fucking halo, the way her eyes are filled with need, the curve of her hip just above her underwear.
I take another step back, heart slamming against my ribcage.
She sits up, pulling her shirt down.
