Short Stack - Lily Morton Page 0,67

finally say. “I suppose it comes in useful in your line of work.”

“You make me sound like a used-car salesman. When I need to move quickly, I don’t often jog. It’s more a full-on sprint. On a good day for being threatened, I’m like Usain Bolt.”

“I wonder if we’d perform better in the Olympics if someone were threatening the athletes’ lives,” I ponder.

“You’re astonishingly callous, Hen.”

“Thank you.” I pause. “So, back to the taxi.”

“What happened to my mental-health problem, and your passionate declaration that you were going to be the one to make a change through the power of exercise?”

“Then I did some actual exercise,” I say patiently. “And now I’m afraid that you’re on your own.”

He laughs and seizes my hand. Bringing my fingers up, he kisses them. It’s a quick move, but I wiggle my fingers afterwards, because they’re tingling. “I’ll go and grab a taxi.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll even get you a croissant and a cup of coffee for the journey back.”

“Wow. I need to run more often.”

He gets to his feet. “Let’s not call what you did running.” He looks down at me, his golden eyes clear and warm. “But I do call it friendship though. Thanks, Henry.”

“Any time,” I say softly, watching him as he walks away, the long lines of his body moving easily. “Anything for you.”

The Lost Weekend

This is set after Henry and Ivo have been together for two years, and three years before the epilogue.

Henry

I juggle my briefcase and bags as I struggle to get the key in the lock. “Honey, I’m home,” I shout as I open the door.

Bertie barks and dances down the stairs towards me, and I dump my briefcase to bend and pet him. “Ivo, Bertie’s downstairs licking me. How is it that you’re not doing the same?”

“You’re so high-maintenance.” His voice is nearer, and I look up to see him halfway down the stairs and smiling at me. He’s wearing paint-stained ripped jeans and an old green T-shirt which has been washed so many times it clings to his chest. He looks handsome and happy and all mine.

I leer at him. “You say high-maintenance. I say high-performing.”

He grins and gestures to me. “Come upstairs for a minute.”

“A minute?” I sigh. “Everyone said that the sex would deteriorate, but I don’t think even they were talking about a minute. Oof!”

I laugh and shout out as he rushes towards me and grapples me down to the floor. Bertie barks hysterically and dances around us. I cover my head, laughing at the dog. “How is it that you have just attacked me and Bertie’s staying to bite me to add insult to injury?”

“We’re a team,” he says smugly, sitting up so he’s now straddling me.

I slide my hands up his thighs in their faded old denim that’s gone white and thin in all the interesting places like his crotch. “Hmm, this is more of a welcome home.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. “You’re insatiable. We had sex this morning, and you actually caught a taxi home in your lunch break for more. I’m starting to feel objectified.”

“You should start to feel molested,” I growl, curving my fingers around the hard length in his jeans.

“Mmm,” he moans and is just lowering his head to kiss me when he pauses. “Henry, what’s in those bags?”

I look guiltily at them. “Oh, hmm. Supplies?” I say questioningly.

“Supplies for what?”

“Dinner?”

“Really?”

I nod gamely.

He gives me a wicked grin. “How unusual that Burberry and Ralph Lauren have started to supply food. Now, that’s what I call a real one-stop shop.” I groan, and he laughs. “Henry, what is our spare room?”

“Our dressing room?”

“Hmm, our is such a broad term for it. Let’s see. How about we just say it’s your dressing room.”

“You’ve got a shelf,” I say, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, my shelf. Yes. It’s funny, but my shelf seems to now have a lot of your stuff on it.”

I shove his hips. “Listen, your old shit can go anywhere. My stuff is boss.”

“Boss?” he echoes.

“And necessary,” I add quickly, smiling widely at him. “Look in the second bag.”

Leaning over, he snags the bag and pulls it towards him. He opens it and looks up with an arrested expression on his face. “Oh, Henry,” he says, pulling out a cascade of jockstraps in rainbow colours.

“Like I said. Necessary.”

He smiles. “I’ll clear my shelf.”

I laugh. “Want me to model them?”

His agreement is vocal and enthusiastic and leads to an intense session on the hall