Page 69 of Obedience

‘1997,’ Dylan replied insouciantly.

Greta billowed her cheeks as if to hold in vomit, simultaneously tipping her head to the side as if she’d been slapped. ‘Jesus Christ, you’re only a year younger than my Jeep.’

Greta moved to push herself away. ‘Woah!’ Dylan exclaimed, jerking Greta into her body. ‘And do you love—’ She shook her head, cringing at the word. ‘Do you like your Jeep?’

Greta smirked in open appreciation of the metaphor. ‘I do like my Jeep very much, yes.’

‘Is she fit?’ Dylan went on, sounding every bit the Mancunian.

Drawing in a long breath through flared nostrils, Greta gently squeezed the biceps both her hands rested on. ‘Yes, she’s aesthetically very, very pleasing.’

‘Her bodywork, how’s that?’ Dylan asked through her smile, that was growing wider.

Greta slowly bit her bottom lip and sighed as though pained, while running her hands over Dylan’s chest. ‘It’s remarkable, really,’ she replied in a low voice.

‘And does she run well?’

Greta quirked a perfect brow. ‘She goes, yes,’ she chuckled.

Dylan huffed through her nose. ‘Well then, Clerk!’ she bellowed to no one over Greta’s shoulder, making her physically jump. ‘Let the records reflect that this case is dismissed.’

Greta shook her head, scanning her face while inhaling in mock incredulity. ‘Why are you like this?’

‘I don’t know,’ Dylan replied immediately, shaking her head with feigned forlornness, her curls bouncing from side to side. She held Greta to her, slowly dragging her gaze to rest on Greta’s mouth. ‘Kiss me, Doctor Vincent.’

Only too happy to oblige, Greta kissed her softly on the lips before being suddenly spun by Dylan’s capable hands and dragged onto the stool with her. ‘I think these are for one person!’ she yelled, as Dylan’s strong arm hoisted her backward.

‘Shush. Now, tell me more about this Jeep and which company we’re using for my insurance.’

Greta allowed herself to be pulled onto the stool, settling between Dylan’s spread thighs with her back pressed against her chest. She let herself be held. After gently gathering Greta’s hair over one shoulder to expose the warm skin of her neck, Dylan peppered it with kisses. Greta tilted her head, giving her better access.

‘Do you want to come to South Manchester Gen with me then?’ Dylan’s words were muffled against Greta’s skin. ‘You don’t have to. I’m sure there are better, less hospitally-based things you could be doing on a Sunday.’

‘I want to.’

Dylan’s smile pressed against Greta’s neck. ‘Okay. Thank you. You don’t even need to pull over, really. Just keep to about five miles an hour as you drive past the main entrance, and I’ll jump out while you’re still rolling.’

Greta laughed again, for the hundredth time that morning, and pressed her hands onto Dylan’s forearms crossed at her front. ‘I think we’ll probably just find somewhere to park, shall we?’

‘Are you sure? It might be about six quid that. Much cheaper to drop and roll.’

‘I’d rather not spend the afternoon tending to your cuts and bruises, Dyl. Anyway, I want to come.’

Dylan pressed another kiss onto Greta’s neck, leaving her lips pushed against her. ‘Thank you.’ Thumbing over her shoulder, she quickly added, ‘We fuck in that big fancy bathroom first though, yeah?’

‘Oh, abso-fucking-lutely,’ Greta replied without missing a beat, turning to look in the direction of Dylan’s thumb.

***

They got back to Greta’s after the visit to see Dylan’s mum, the long way around so that an overly giddy Dylan could see Greta’s car in action. Greta opened two beers—alcohol-free for Dylan. As she watched Dylan take the bottle, a quiet respect settled in her chest. Greta was by no means a heavy drinker, but she very much enjoyed alcohol and couldn’t imagine abstaining completely. Like millions of others, a glass or two of wine was definitely her go-to de-stresser.

‘Cheers,’ Greta said softly, tilting her bottle to Dylan.

Their bottles met with a sharp clink.

‘Cheers,’ Dylan replied. With a smirk, she took a long swig without breaking eye contact. Swallowing, she placed the bottle on the kitchen island. ‘She looks a bit better today, doesn’t she?’ Dylan said, pulling their Japanese food from a brown takeaway bag.

‘She does. She’ll be home before you know it.’ Greta smiled despite the sting of reality rippling over her skin.