By 7.15 the party is in full swing. Everyone’s so overstressed from the term tests that booze hits their braincells like a hammer on an anvil. Since you can’t drink, you are nursing your first and only glass. At some point you find Thea in the kitchenette.
She turns around and squeals. “Oh I’m so happy for you!”
She hangs on your neck. Which is bloody painful, since she is at least five inches taller than you. And much fuller in the most important zones.
“Thea, Phil was supposed to come tonight…” She clasps her palm on her mouth.
“Sorry, babe, I didn’t know! Eva called and said the whole uni’s buzzing about your scoring the big snatch, and I thought it calls for a celebration!” She looks pitiful. You hug her.
“And I love it! It’s just we finally wanted to talk…”
“Finally?” She looks at your suspiciously. “He spent the night.”
“And now you are wearing new boob holders…” She hooks her finger under a strap. There’s no use trying to lie to her. She has a terrifying ESP for anything shag related. You feel the blush. “Oh Wren, this is better than your grant thing! Finally!”
“Shut up, Thea!” You are laughing too.
At 7.30 you’re hiding on the fire escape. You are too spun out to be in the crowd, everyone needs to know how it went, what you are going to do with the money, some clap you on the shoulder, but some thankfully have already forgotten what the party was about. You lean on the wall and close your eyes.
The window opens, and Phil’s head sticks out.
“There you are, love.”
He climbs out and sits beside you. You feel his hip pressing into yours. You turn to him and smile. He hands you a bouquet of your favourite red carnations. You bury your face into them, the spicy sweet smell tickling your nose. You don’t remember ever telling him you loved them.
“Thank you…” You smile into his laughing eyes.
“If I knew, I’d bring enough for everyone.” He gives you a pointed look.
“Listen, I’m sorry about this, Thea invited everyone, to celebrate the grant…”
“Oh, congratulation on that by the way! Uncle said you were magnificent.”
“Oh?” You hide your face in the flowers again.
“I ran into him after your meeting.”
“Oh?” Shite, shite, shite!
“Listen…” He turns his torso to you. “Should we maybe just go to my place? You wanted to talk, and it’s hardly possible here.” Someone bangs on the window from inside, waving a fag in their hand. He lifts his brow pointedly.
“Sure, let’s go.”
You walk through the crowd, and he picks up your hand. The music is blaring, people are chatting loudly, and you just want to stay alone with him. For a second you see Thea’s face, she gives you an encouraging wink and thumbs up.
OK, let’s do it!
The drive is silent, you are looking through the window. The flowers are still on your lap, you wouldn’t leave your babies in that house of debauchery.
“Do you have a vase?” He smirks.
“I’m sure I can conjure something.”
“Where’s Killian tonight?”
“He went to the mansion for the weekend.”
And only then you realize it is Friday. You’ve been so dischuffed the last few days that you lost track of time. Bollocks. Are you heading to a bloke’s flat on a Friday evening? It’s a whole new level of awkward. If you stay over, for how long do you stay the next day? Do you spend it together? If so, who pays for the food?
Bugger, that is not the main issue right now, Wren! The biggest pussychaser in the uni offered you to date him, and you played tonsils hockey with his uncle several hours ago. Gain some bloody perspective, Wren!
He parks his Jag in the parkade, and you take a lift upstairs. It goes all the way to the flat, and you suddenly remember why you never like to come here. Because you feel like a chav. In shonky clothes, that you were so proud of before you entered the fancy parlour. All the geometric forms and bright colours. Phil throws his jacket and keys on a small table that is probably worth more than all your belongings.
“Feel yourself at home, I’ll get something for the flowers.”
He disappears in the kitchen, and you stand in the middle of the room. Bugger, jitters! You bite your lip. You are so uncomfortable that you feel like tosh.
He comes out with a tall glass trophy cup full of water. You peek at the inscription. ‘Killian Durinson, 1st place. Archery Competition.’
“Posh.” You put the flowers in, and he lowers the cup on the table.
You are standing in front of each other in the middle of the parlour.
“Maybe just some fizz. I already had my share today.” He nods and stretches his hand towards you. What? You tentatively put your fingers in his large warm palm, and he leads you into the kitchen. “Don’t want to leave you there alone. You don’t look that chuffed there.”
“Your painting of a giant purple penis irks me out.”
“It is an aubergine.”
“It’s most definitely a penis. I have seen them. They look exactly like that.” He gives you a throaty chuckle.
You feel better in the kitchen. It’s slightly more messy, there are dirty dishes in the sink. Phil scrunches his nose.
“I told him to clean up.” You snicker.
“You told Killian to clean up? How did you think that would play out?”
“I tried to make an effort!”
He gets two glasses and pours himself some scotch, and water for you.
“I get the dash, you get the splash.” You click your glasses, and he takes a sip. It’s so fucking hot! His gorgeous curved lips close on the rim of the glass, masculine throat moves with the booze going down, and then he licks his lips.
“You sure you don’t want any? You are ogling my glass.”
“I’m not ogling the glass.”
He smiles and puts the drink down. Then he takes yours and puts it down as well. And then he grabs the back of your head and pulls you in. Fuck all the deities and gods ever walking this world! You literally feel you are sagging on the floor from the intensity of this kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he picks you up, large hands under your arse. You automatically hug his waist with your legs, and he starts walking to his room.
He kicks the door open and slams your back into a brick wall of his bedroom. You moan and squeeze him tighter with your hips. He’s sucking and nipping on your lips, there’s just the right amount of tongue, and you scratch his nape. The orgasmic golden strands run through your fingers, and you are moaning louder.
He turns around, makes a few steps and fall backwards on the bed. You are now straddling him, his hands on your arse, and he is staring at you. You are so turned on that your hands are shaking. You dive in and attack his neck. He drops his head back and moans.
“Phil…” You move your lips to his ear and bite his lobe. “We need to talk…”
“Sure, love, anything you want…” His hands slide under your sweater.
“It is an unpleasant conversation…” You are kissing his clavicles now in the open collar of his shirt. The dark blue definitely compliments the eyes, but you are more grateful for the buttons. You’ve already opened two, and while you are sucking on his neck, you tread your fingers through the coarse chest hair. He groans and then suddenly sits up lifting you with him.
“I am all for less talk, more bang.” He grabs handfuls of your hair and pulls it back making you look into his eyes. “But maybe not this time….” His eyes are serious. “What were you saying?..”