Short Stack - Lily Morton Page 0,112
twists in amusement. “Eli, I’m beginning to feel like a sexual object to you.”
“Only beginning to feel.” I smirk. “I must up my game. If you were a sexual object, you’d totally be a diamond dildo.”
“Stunning and expensive?’
“Totally impractical.”
His laughter seems to twine around me as we tumble into the bedroom and fall onto the bed.
A while later, when we’ve stopped panting and my heart has stopped pounding, I stir in the circle of his arms. “You’ve only been gone a week. Don’t you actors know the meaning of work?”
He snorts and kisses the side of my head. “It’s a bank holiday. Good luck getting any crew in for that.”
“Well, their loss is my gain. When do you have to go back?”
“Sunday afternoon,” he says regretfully.
“So soon?” I say plaintively and immediately want to smack myself. I sound like something from a Mills and Boon novel. I prop myself on my elbow and gaze at his features in the moonlight. I trace my finger down the sharp blade of his nose and then the softness of his lips under the scratchy beard. “I quite like this beard,” I say meditatively. I bend to kiss him, tasting come and a faint trace of peppermint. “So, what’s on the agenda this weekend, then?” He hesitates, and I groan. “Not house hunting again, Gid.”
“No, listen,” he says, coming up on his elbows. “We need to get out of here. Lovely as it is, it’s too fucking small for the two of us to live in. I want somewhere we can spread out in.”
“There’s only two of us.”
“When I spread out, I like to do it properly. You know that.”
“Half of the world already knows that. And the other half would pay to find out,” I say sourly, thinking of all the men after him now and all the years of his bed-hopping.
His brow wrinkles. “What?”
“Never mind.”
He lies back and pulls me close, so our legs tangle and I sink into him. “We need a proper base.”
“Is there any point in me reiterating that this is very fast and we might need some space to date and just get to know one another?”
“No,” he says quickly. “Eli, I know you better than I’ve ever known anyone in my life. Mainly because you’re the only person to ever interest me. I think that you know me even better, because, let’s face it, you’re better than me in every aspect of having a relationship.”
“Only because I’ve had relationships before.”
“No,” he says sharply. “Let’s not ever discuss your previous relationships. They weren’t me. End of story.”
“Your lack of confidence in yourself is very worrying to me,” I say demurely.
“Yours is even more worrying,” he returns sharply, and the humour dies away abruptly.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” he says wearily. “You’re second-guessing everything at the moment. Thinking I’m going to leave, going to get bored.”
“No, I’m not,” I say sharply, getting out of bed and pulling on my sweats with quick, jerky movements. “You’re talking rubbish.”
“Oh, really? And is that why you’re getting so defensive?”
“I’m getting defensive because you don’t ever fucking listen to me,” I hiss, and he recoils slightly. “Shit!” I mutter. “I’m sorry. That was totally uncalled for.”
It really was, because the fault is with me. I’m the one not talking to him, and we both know it. However, every time I think of confiding my mess of feelings, the words tangle in my throat, and I don’t. Now is no exception. I reach down and kiss him apologetically. “Let’s not argue,” I say quickly. “We’ve only got the weekend. Let’s have a nice time and have a look at some houses.”
“You just said that in the same tone you’d probably use about a root canal.”
“That’d probably be preferable to Julian,” I say, thinking of our estate agent. “He’s getting fed up with our inability to make our minds up over which house.”
He’s also getting fed up with me tagging along with him and Gid, but I don’t say that.
“I’m sure he’ll get over it,” he says arrogantly.
“Maybe you should man an advice line. They’d be lining up to throw themselves in the river.”
“Once again you underestimate my talents,” he says loftily, making me smile.
But as I watch him dress I know we’re just tabling this argument. Nothing is sorted, and refusing to face the problems is going to make things worse in the long run. Nevertheless, I cowardly accept the détente for the rest of the night.
The next morning is as