She closed her eyes for a moment.
“Thank you,” she said with a strange note in her voice. “Coming from you… wow, Willa. Wow. That’s… wow. Thank you.”
I took a breath; sighed it out; I was relieved that she didn’t seem to have taken offence – some girls got awfully weird or angry when a gay girl called them pretty…
“Willa?” she said, hesitantly.
“Yeah?”
“Listen. I know it’s a bit… overt of me, and you’ve probably got a massively busy Sunday lined up, but… I’ve got a spare room and I’m really, really lonely at home. Would… would you maybe…”
“What is it, Sam?”
“I want to get drunk,” she confessed. “I want to get completely out of this world drunk with you, at home, where I don’t have to worry about how I’m going to get back home or who’s likely to see me when I’m off my tits. Will you come spend the night at mine? We can raid Mark’s cellar.”
“That sounds like a really bad idea. I’m so in.”
She stared at me. Then she grinned. “I love you, you know,” she said.
My heart turned over in my chest; I reminded myself that those words meant other things to other people.
“Yeah, well, what can I say, just remember that I warned you about me and being shmangled,” I said, desperate to camouflage my immediate and stupid response.
“Okay. You sure you don’t want dessert?”
“No. I’m grand, thanks…”
She stood.
“Right. In that case I’m going to go settle our bill.”
“Can I please just…”
“No,” she said, severely. “This is on me. My treat, Willa. My pub, my rules.”
She stepped off, and I couldn’t help but stare at that gorgeous bum as she accosted our waiter and settled up. When she turned back to me I had to work really hard to act all light and airy.
Because I wanted her so much that my chest physically ached.
We were both quiet as we climbed into the car.
But a few minutes into the drive she reached out for my hand and put it back on her thigh.
I swallowed hard and tried not to read anything into it.
And once more I tried to keep it mostly where it was…
Mostly.
.:.
“Come in,” she said. “And… please, I apologise in advance. It’s…”
“… gorgeous,” I breathed, staring around with wide eyes, still recovering from the the view of the outside of the massive glass and wood-clad edifice that stood in a county’s worth of parkland.
She sighed.
“Yeah. And that’s why I feel like a caretaker a lot of the time. Anyway. Can’t do anything about it. Kick off your heels next to mine. Here…. let me help you out of that jacket.”
“Thanks…”
“God, you always make tartan look so incredible, Willa. That skirt goes so well with everything else. It’s so very… you. I love it.”
“I’m a war crime disguised as a fashion crime. I love watching well-dressed people cringe.”
“You’re evil,” she laughed. “It’s so nice and refreshing.”
I smiled.
“So where to now? Do you have a map?”
She snorted. “It’s not that big. The kitchen and downstairs entertainment area are this way. Entertainment area. Hah! Like we ever use it for that.”
“I’ll be entertained there on your behalf, then, and at least you’ll have done so once.”
“Mm. That’s true. Do you drink wine at all, Willa?”
“Yeah – but infrequently. It’s a bit too pricey to hit too often. I do like a nice glass of good red… that is, when I can get it.”
“Brilliant. A nice glass of red coming right up for you, then.”
She walked to a section of panelling and pressed it; it clicked and swung open slightly. Sam pulled the door all the way ajar; I craned my head around the corner and gaped.
“Wow,” I breathed.
“Yes, I know,” she said. “It’s obscene, isn’t it.”
“I’ve never seen an entire room that was built simply to hold bottles before…”
“Oh, it’s far worse than that. There is a cork floor and wall lining and the racks have individual temperature controls… he takes better care of his bottles than he ever has of me…”
I touched the small of her back in sympathy. She shivered, then gave me a brief backwards glance over her shoulder. “Mm. So. How about we deprive him of one of his better vintages.”
She stepped into the concealed area and pulled out a dark green bottle from its cradle in the wall-to-ceiling racks, then shooed me back out with a gentle nudge of her hip. She found two lovely lead-crystal glasses and poured us both a generous measure. She handed me mine and towed me by my hand through to a large, carpeted, double-volumed, glass-walled area dotted with minimalist lamps, abstract art and fashionably-distressed leather sofas.
She pushed me down into one and slid in beside me.
I was intensely conscious of the shape of her under the jeans and tee shirt, especially when she leaned back into the backrest and the fabric of her top rode up tightly over her, removing any remaining mystery about the shape of her breasts and her bra while showing an inch or more of her bare, pale, beautiful midriff.
The sequin heart on her shirt glittered under the muted light, I caught myself staring and looked swiftly away.
“Thank you for coming home with me,” she groaned as she finished her stretch. “Thank you for being such a decent person and such a wonderful friend. I was so alone.”
“So was I,” I answered. “I’ve never had a friend like you. I’ve got mates, but nobody I feel… as safe… talking to like I do with you. About the things I… need to talk about. Thank you.”
“We’re a match made in heaven”, she whispered.
I glanced down at my lap.
Oh, if only that were actually true, I thought sadly to myself.
She didn’t seem to notice my discomfort – she sipped her wine, then set it aside on a smokey glass sideboard.
“Willa… can I ask you a… personal question?”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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