Page 60 of Read My Lips

“Of course she is.”

His tongue clacked loudly against his teeth as he leaned back in his seat, arms folded across his chest. “I knew you’d have a problem with that.”

“Oh come on. Normal people don’t employ someone to put the coffee on the table and toast the Hovis.”

“Would you rather they didn’t employ anybody and sat on their mound of gold coins counting every penny?”

“What, like Silas Marner?” I folded my arms too. Why was this so difficult? He was right. Last night had been a terrible, terrible idea.

“More like Smaug.” Simon’s laugh should not have felt like a victory. Or a relief.

I took another bit of toast, and dithered about double-dipping in someone else’s jam pot with a butter-smeared knife. I didn’t even want jam.

“Ben, what are you looking for?”

“They don’t have any Marmite?”

“No.” Simon confirmed reluctantly. “They do not. I don’t think a little pot full of noxious black sludge with a bright yellow lid would go with the aesthetic of the table.”

He took another little sip from his dainty cup. Which definitely did fit with the whole mood of the place. The same way he did.

“I’m not eating the aesthetic, am I? I’m eating disappointingly cold toast.”

Simon dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “What’s wrong with marmalade?”

“Too sweet, isn’t it?” Under the table, I stretched my legs, crossing my ankles in front of me. “You want a bit of salt first thing in the morning, right?”

Simon’s grin turned wolfish, splitting wide enough to flash his teeth. “Couldn’t possibly comment.”

He leaned back, legs stretched long under the table, next to mine, not quite touching. And then he shifted so our calves met.

“Look—”I said at the same millisecond Simon started to speak.

“Sorry.” He held his hands up, palms wide. “You first.”

“Nothing. I just…” I made a vague gesture towards the ceiling, hoping to indicate the bedroom. “About up there? It was alright, wasn’t it?”

His lips rolled in on themselves and his nostrils flared. “So much more than alright, Ben.”

Oh shit. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He who dares, wins and all that. “If you wanted, I’d be up for”—I cleared my throat—“extending the holiday?”

The air between us bloody well crackled.

I held my breath, waiting for him to draw his leg away from mine. Simon blinked at the half eaten slice of toast in the middle of his plate for an endless run of seconds, frowning. “You’d actually be okay with that?”

I held my hands up, showing him my palms. “Only because you can’t find anybody else to get you off, what with your incredibly busy schedule and all that. It’d be a pity fuck really.”

Held-back amusement tugged at his lips. “You shit.”

“Don’t let me twist your arm or anything. It’s just sex, remember?”

“Alright.” He was grinning. I was grinning. “I’d like that.”

He’d like that. Holy fuck. My ribcage could barely hold my hyperactive heart.

“Anyway.” The bastard nodded to my plate, notching an eyebrow upward. “Better hurry up if you want to get all that down you. Taxi’s here in five minutes.”

God help me, what had I just done?