She was definitely kissing him back this time, and at no point was she pushing him away either but just in case, when they finally came up for air Will thought it best to check from the relative safety, and infinite comfort, of that lovely spot in the nape of her lovely soft warm neck:
'I'm not in trouble this time?'
She shook her head no which, as an added bonus, rubbed her wild hair into his.
Will moved his hands to the sides of her head but didn't speak again until she was looking into his eyes, albeit still with some weird but adorable bashfulness.
'I'm sorry, Elisabeth, this must be the worst date you've ever been on.'
'No worries, I thought it was a work thing,' she smiled, but then looked down again.
While he waited for her to recover he tucked her hair back around those cute but evidently useless little slides of hers:
'I guess technically yes, you're right,' he said, grinning from ear to ear: 'But then you made it perfectly clear you wouldn't go on a date with me, didn't you?'
He tried to look into her face, but she wouldn't let him:
'I'm sorry, Will, I'm really sorry I've been such a …'
x
A what?
Perhaps just a much shier quant than he'd given her credit for, that was all. One who presently started to blush, so he kissed her again, and she kissed him back, and after much toing and froing they settled for resting their heads against each other's necks again.
'You're OK?' he asked, trying to loosen that damn shawl thingy off more of her skin, so his lips could nestle closer to her earlobe.
'Fine, thanks,' she said in a whisper.
He closed his eyes and opened them again. Twice but no, this was real. It was happening. To him. Only one thing for it now: he cupped her head between his hands and got her to look at him:
'Really?'
'Yes, really!' she said, beaming almost as hard as he was.
'Brilliant. In that case, Elisabeth,' he said, letting go of her head and grabbing her hands instead, for strength, 'let's take you on a date. May I take you on a proper date?'
'What…'
x
Oh.
Will almost let go of her hands, but then he thought about it and gave them a squeeze of encouragement instead. Elisabeth had definitely just kissed him. Twice. She had confirmed that she was OK about it, also twice.
Still, it was fair enough if she felt a little confused. After all most people, not just quants, did do things the other way around: they ate dinner together first, then they decided whether to eat each other's faces or not.
For afters.
'Look,' he said, thumbing over his shoulder again, 'we don't want to look back twenty years hence and have this to remember for a first night out, do we?'
Instead of answering him she went up on tiptoe and mouthed something at someone over his shoulder and took his hand down again. Then she stared at her toes for a bit and thought hard and then looked back up at him and said a very polite:
'Yes, Will. A proper date would be lovely.'
Lovely?
Elisabeth herself, she was lovely, yes, sure. But right now "lovely" wasn't how Will felt about going on a date with her. He felt elated, excited, quite besides himself in fact.
But only if she felt the same way:
'You're sure about this, Elisabeth? With me? I'm not too thick for you or too… I've never been in a band and my French's rubbish.'
'If anything you might be a little too smooth but that's all, really. Are you sure I'm not too … I don't know plain or...'
What?
'Plain?'
'I mean compared to…' she said, with a nod towards the club door, 'Look, you might as well know this is the very best I can look. I've had help tonight, believe it or not.'
Oh, holy crap. Was this what this was? The flipping neck thing again, was that all that was going on here? A bit of mindless fun for her on a Saturday night, with some guy she thought was hot? Was this why dating didn't compute with her? Was talking a mere inefficiency on her optimal path between snogging someone's face off and shagging their brains out?
And then hating oneself for all of the above by Monday morning, of course.
'OK, Elisabeth, you realise I've not sweated my gut out here to ask you out because you look pretty, right?'
She froze. He clarified:
'Which you don't: you look gorgeous. I realise you try not to around the desk, but you still do.'
She unfroze, but started smiling politely. Or awkwardly, or fuck-knew why she was smiling, but this was no smiling matter, not for him anyway:
'I'm serious, Elisabeth! I'm fed up with pretending that this is all good casual fun. It's not, OK? This is hell for me. I fucking hate it, I hate sitting next to you all day, pretending to like you. I've bloody hated it from the time I walked into that bloody building and watched you... Oh Jesus, you do my head in, Elisabeth, you always have. You've no idea how many times I've all but chucked it in, just because of how hard it is for me sitting there all day, pretending I don't fantasise about us. It all but killed me, watching you email that two-timing wanker in Estonia every morning. I love you, Elisabeth. I do, I love you, deal with it. I've never met anyone remotely like you and I know full well I never will, so I haven't got the faintest interest in flirting with you, OK? I've tried but you know what, I do enough pretending all day without pretending with you as well. I love you. So if you're just after a bit of fun, or just distracting yourself from Matey out in Estonia then just tell me, please. Tell me now, while I can still fuck off with what's left of my dignity.'
'OK, please don't fuck off, Will, please don't,' she said, thankfully without thinking first.
'You sure?'
This time she did think about it, damn her. But then without smiling but without any stupid shyness either, and whilst squeezing his hand she said:
'I can't promise you twenty years' time just yet, Will. I'd love to, but knowing us both we'll probably have our moments. All I can promise you right now is that I'd really like to find out, is that OK?'
Well that was fair enough, yes:
'It's fine,' he said, and sealed that deal with another kiss.
x
They took ages walking to the restaurant because they kept having to stop to kiss and run their fingers through each other's hair, and then through each other's fingers and then over again, every couple of yards. Slowest and best walk through Mayfair he'd ever had, by a long way.
Once there she seemed to like the restaurant well enough, which was a relief, though neither of them ate much, what with all the explaining and apologising he still owed her for his early behaviour.
Yet by the end of it Will still wasn't sure he'd got his point across. Somehow Elisabeth's mighty brain didn't seem able to compute the simple fact that he might love her. Every time he said anything to that effect she'd blush or freeze, or have one of what she called her freak outs. They weren't nearly as bad as they'd been round the office, and in fact they were now rather cute but the fact remained: Will loved her and to him the idea of her loving him back even a tiny bit was nothing but great, amazing, fantastic. Nothing, but nothing at all, to freak out or get shy about.
She, on the other hand, either couldn't believe that this was real, and not some giant sick cosmic joke; or else she did believe it, but she couldn't be sure how she felt about it, and as Will paid the bill he still rather feared it was the latter. So he got the maitre d' to order her a cab and resolved not to rush her further tonight, but to give her whatever space and time she needed to get her head straight.
At least this time she didn't argue with him or attempt to take the tube home. But as they stood outside waiting for the car she started looking forlorn and tugging at the lapels of his coat, so he couldn't help kiss her again. The trouble was, he'd not yet bothered to do his coat up, and before he knew it her hands had slinked up under it and then under his jacket too, so that by the time the cab pulled in front of them he'd quite forgotten how to breathe, let alone how to think straight.
OK, just see her home then. And then ride the cab back to his, pretty much in the opposite direction, but never mind. This was already worth every penny.
This cab driver must have found a way through some kind of time-warp though, because it didn't feel like they could have been canoodling for more than about five minutes when he pulled up in front of her house. She extracted her hand back from under his seatbelt, coat and jacket – funny how she seemed to experience none of her usual muddles with clothes when it came to getting under his – and then she blushed and looked at him with hangdog eyes while muttering something about him coming out.
It would have been rude not to. Just as far as the door, mind. Yes, he'd just kiss her one last time, on her doorstep.
Just like last time, in other words, but even better, then make a joke about it and then make his way home.
Right.
x
They did kiss on her doorstep, their hands once again exploring every inch of what skin and hair they could. Then she got her keys out, opened the door and took his hand, and before he knew it they were kissing inside, and she was working his coat off him, and he gladly let her. Then she stopped kissing him for long enough to take her coat off too, grabbed his hand again and walked him into her flat. So dazed was he by that point that he noticed nothing unusual about it.
He only came to when they stopped in front of some guy she introduced as Ben. Will stuck his hand out and hopefully remembered to say hi, or words to that effect. OK, just walk her back to her room then. He'd see her into her room and then say good night and find another cab home.
Yes, that.
Unless that Ben guy killed him first, of course, because if looks could kill then...
Then another bloke's head appeared from behind whatever served as a sofa in this place, and Will felt Elisabeth's hand tighten around his. She froze for a bit then Will heard:
'Will, this is Tom. Tom: Will.'
Say what?
Will gulped as he watched Tom slither off the sofa, a skinny boy-man with ripped jeans and a mop of hair one might have called either Byronesque, or else moronic. Handsome with it too, the bastard. Now this Tom - Estonia Tom, writer of emails and breaker of quant hearts - came to plant himself in front of Will, who looked back at him and then down, utterly at a loss. OK, so hell definitely was other people, and Will had just stepped into its seventh circle.
'Will, Will… Will! Right!' Tom was saying. And making Elisabeth wince, the snakey bastard: 'Yes, I think she might have mentioned you before. Way way back, last year. Back when I first met her, in fact.'
'Great,' Will spat at him. Sadly he could picture it all too well: Elisabeth coming home from their first trading offsite and sinking into that sofa, the better to cry about it on Tom's stupid bony shoulder…
Bastard.
'So you too, hey? But she is quick to enchant, is she not?' Tom was saying, now looking downright crazy. As indeed did the opposite wall, now that Will looked at it to try and evade Tom's half-demented glare.
Elisabeth, kudos to her, didn't look one bit scared. But her grip on Will's hand had just tightened again.
'Had us all under her spell, I'm sure. The moment we met her, really,' Tom was saying, waving his arms around, and of course he was dead right there. But then if the wanker had been stupid enough to fuck off to Estonia and mess with Elisabeth instead of hanging on to her, then he deserved everything he got, and then some.
'But mind that you love her well, Will: it turns out she is also peculiarly cruel in her revenge,' Tom said with a mad, ugly smile. Sore fucking loser. Too fucking bad. Will tried to squeeze Elisabeth's hand but she was basically garrotting his by now, and turning a darker shade of red which, if he knew her, meant she was about to absolutely maul Tom's crazy head, right off his sorry skinny arse.
To Will's eternal credit he tried to avert full Armageddon by saying:
'Look, Tom, I don't know what…', but as it turned out it was already too late:
'She?' Elisabeth was asking, 'Who exactly is she, Tom? Hmmm? Me? I'm right here!'
Don't.
Stop.
He's not worth it, Will thought, watching despondently as Elisabeth worked herself to a level of fury that made his own past run-ins with her feel like jolly saunters through fragrant, sun-dappled springtime meadows.
Why? What could be the point?
But it seemed there was no stopping her now:
'Me, I have always been right here,' she all but shouted, index jabbing at the air in front of Tom's nose, 'and this,' jabbing at Will, who indeed had never felt like more like a this in his life, 'this has nothing to do with revenge, Tom. It's got to do with...'
A pause.
Please, Elisabeth, please stop. He's not worth it, no one is:
'It's just to do with love,'
Oh...
That?
Really?
'Good, old fashioned, uncomplicated monogamous love. You wouldn't understand but I'm sure glad that he gets it. So now good night.'
And on that bombshell, the Fury formerly known as Elisabeth Bennet dragged Will away, more confused than ever. Had she just said that she loved him? Or just that she was glad that he loved her?
And either way, why had she gone and said it to Tom?
x
'You OK, Elisabeth?' he asked when they got to her room: awful blue walls, that futon didn't half look like a tough old bastard, wardrobe and a chest of drawers with hoops of plaited string for handles. She'd have enjoyed making those, Will thought. Quants did like tying things up in knots.
But this room also had French doors to a garden, and nowadays Will had a definite fondness for French doors.
'Are you OK?' Elisabeth asked back. She sounded like her normal self again, though none of this felt normal to Will. Then when he didn't immediately answer she checked:
'Did he scare you?'
'No, but you scared me a bit, I think. Was he drunk or something?'
'Oh no,' she said dismissively, 'I mean it's pretty likely, yes, but he can do this sober too.'
Right, normal for N19 then:
'Jesus, Elisabeth, are all your first dates like this?'
'I'm sorry,' she said, kicked her shoes off and leant her forehead into his chest. He'd been about to bid her goodnight, he really had, but now he couldn't leave her like this. So he put one arm around her and with his free hand he started stroking the back of her head, the way Clara had only just started to let him stroke hers.
Much like Clara when you first got hold of her, Elisabeth felt stiff. Presumably with the remains of the rage, or pain, or whatever it was that she'd just gone through, out there.
'It's so unfair,' she was saying. Wasn't it just? 'I mean I can't even remember when I last had a first date, any kind of date in fact…'
He kissed the top of her head, squeezed her a little tighter, then felt her go. He felt her melt into him with a huge sigh, which melted him right down inside too. So instead of bidding her goodnight he gave her another squeeze, then peeled her off him as gently as he could and said:
'Really? Who's a lucky boy then!'
Now this: this was to have been his parting comment, really it was, but by way of thanks she got up on tiptoes and grabbed hold of the sides of his face and ran her fingers along his jawline then kissed him. Again, what could he do? By the time he'd even asked himself that, the jacket she'd ripped off him and chucked onto the chest of drawers was already sliding back down to the floor, and her hands were all over him.
So he knew he shouldn't, but after an unquantifiable, very pleasant while indeed, instead of him leaving her to process the events of the evening so far, they took his shoes off, and settled down onto that hard Japanese bastard of a mattress, and he showed her how to take his top shirt button off.
Though she'd evidently not come across screw buttons before, Elisabeth wrapped her head around the technology fast enough. But she still took her own sweet time about it, like a kid unwrapping a much-anticipated Christmas present. Except that in this case the Christmas present himself was having difficulties breathing with the sheer anticipation of the moment when her eyes, and fingers, would make way for her lips.
Meanwhile, Will's own fingers had established that her boobs were only one flick away of that hook-and-eye behind her neck. But he was being very good, and keeping his hands and lips strictly on that generous amount of her skin already left bare by this lovely, lovely dress.
Incredible, she was incredible. This was incredible. This close up there were small dark brown dots here and there on the white skin of her neck, back and arms, that he'd never thought to fantasise about before. His lips were busy tracing them and from now on he never wanted to fall asleep ever again, and not dream about them.
Then she decided to roll them both around and onto his back so she could start working at his next shirt button. Yes, please. Meant that he had two hands free, one to hold onto the back of her head while they kissed, and the other to wander along the edges of that backless dress of hers, from the middle of her spine, across her back ribs and up, along those glorious, tantalising breasts. He sneaked a finger under the fabric, another, felt the delicious shudder of her skin as it shrunk under his touch, and then he stopped with a jerk and gasped when she beat him at his own game and yanked his shirt right out of his trousers.
OK, you clever minx, well game on then: off with that hook. Let's see them.
Oh. God.
x
Oh God. Oh Jesus fucking Christ on a fucking bike, no.
No!
Fuck.
Go away. No, take your hand off, please. Take it off!
Fuckeddy fucking, no.
On the third time of him dragging her hand out from under waistband of his underwear she finally got it, and hung onto his face instead, still kissing him. But what was the point?
He pushed her away, rolled over onto his back and pulled the duvet over him. Ever the contrarian she pulled it back off. He gave up, and tried hard to stare at the ceiling, but that light fitting sure was a horror, and that was but one of the million stupid ugly thoughts making it impossible to calm down.
To focus.
Here, right next to him, trying to unclench one of his fists was the one person he desired most in the world. While in dB's bed he'd done unspeakable things to Elisabeth – in his head. And now that she was here, right next to him, in the flesh, breathing, her skin warm and smooth against his, all he had to do was roll back to face her and drink it all right up.
But no.
No, his head was all over the place, and all of his stupid blood supply must be log-jamming up there, instead of where she'd have every right to expect it right now, so that meanwhile down there all was cold, and limp, and useless.
Fucking useless.
'I'm sorry, Elisabeth, it's not you,' he said, and it really wasn't. Once again it was all him. For fuck's sake – literally - just focus. Focus on what's right here, Will, he kept saying to himself while trying to stare at the ceiling, but somehow the more he told himself to focus the more his stupid, useless angry thoughts shot all over the place. To Jens's ugly mug in the club, to Bobby fucking Petersen rubbing his sausage fingered hands together, to stupid fucking Tom next door, or was that the front door just closing back on him?
Who cared? Seriously, Tom wasn't in this bed right now, was he?
'It's not you, Elisabeth, I swear.'
'What?'
What? She still didn't get it?
But eventually she did, of course, and then she lay back next to him and ran her fingers through his hair and said:
'I'm sorry Will, is there anything...'
No, there wasn't. That's precisely what he was telling her, that it wasn't her, it wasn't anything to do with her or, God, to think of her breasts, they were perfect. Even better than he'd fantasised all these months. And to think of those weeks he'd had to fake groin injuries for dB… wait: was this what Oli called karma?
'I can't believe this!' Will hissed, pushing her hand away: 'Jesus, I've done this in my head so many fucking...'
A finger, one of her delicious fingers landed on his lips before he could finish swearing himself out.
'It's OK, Will, it's fine.'
No, no it wasn't fine, but it wasn't her fault, it was his, so he took her very kind hand, kissed it and kept it under his on his chest and said sadly:
'No it isn't OK. This wasn't the plan.'
Of all times for her to have another fit of the giggles: seriously?
'Sorry,' she said once she could breathe again. Her voice, however, was still croaky with ill-suppressed hilarity: 'Sorry, Will, but has anything so far tonight been part of a plan? 'cos frankly that would be one hell of a fucked-up plan, excuse my French.'
Well here we go, thought Will: my point exactly. She just didn't get this, did she? Thought it was all terribly funny, that he should have planned to woo her, to kiss her. Well first of all he hadn't planned this - though Georgie might have. Not that he'd ever held any moral qualms about sex on first dates or anything, but he knew that the very idea of a date with him would be plenty enough to freak her right out, without bringing sex into it. So yes, sex could wait.
It should wait, even, until she'd got over herself, which clearly she still hadn't. Not nearly, or else the idea of him planning to ask her out wouldn't have struck her as so damn funny as it presently did.
And yet for all that she found it hilarious, Elisabeth was the one who'd dragged him back here, wasn't she? OK, not exactly against his will, but certainly against his better judgement. She was the one who'd stripped him to his pants and…
Jesus, yeah, perhaps this really was some sick giant cosmic joke after all. But it was on him.
'You know,' she said, her voice back to normal: 'I'd say we've done alright so far, actually. Considering. I mean I was certainly having fun.'
Well, he thought, if that was true then it was nice of her to say so.
And if it wasn't true, then it was even nicer.
So he gave her hand a little squeeze and they stared at each other for a while. Or rather she ogled him, the way he'd watched her ogle his shirt collar ever since Dean had pointed it out, and he looked into her face, searching in vain for something there other than mildly terrified raw lust. Then after she'd had a good eyeful she darted out of bed and said:
'Will, according to you we've got twenty years to get this right,'
He nodded and watched her grab a t-shirt from the wardrobe and pull it on. Who would have thought he'd ever feel this good to see her breasts vanish out of sight again? He sighed, then when her head popped back out of the t-shirt she wiped her hair off her face and said:
'So for now why don't you just hug me so we can get some sleep? You're a great hugger, you know.'
If she said so.
She'd come back to lie on her side next to him, and pulled the duvet over both them. He turned to face her. She was smiling at him which, again, was very nice of her, so he smiled back and pulled her in and said:
'Get used to it,' before squeezing her tight and kissing the top of her head.
She nuzzled his neck for a while, then kissed it goodnight and turned over. She was right, they both needed sleep.
And to get over themselves.
After all, if she liked his hugs as well as his looks, then it wasn't a bad start. Some day she might even get used to the idea that he wasn't a complete bastard.
But then judging by Tom next door, Elisabeth had past form in complete bastards. Will plumped his pillow and slung a tired arm around her. She backed against him and threaded her fingers between his, and as Will closed his eyes he remembered that if she also liked to hold his hand then things really couldn't be that bad. He gave her a last tiny kiss behind the ear, and she made a little sigh.
It was only a tiny little one, but it lingered inside Will's head.
Still, it was high time they both went to sleep, so Will gave her earlobe a completely final, absolutely minute tug with his lips, and heard another sigh. This one might have been a little deeper, but also it must have caught in her throat because it came out all broken, halting. Which obviously called for a longer kiss, because who on earth could ever go to sleep on such a broken sigh?
Will held her hand and pulled her in a little tighter, kissed her neck a little longer, and this time she stopped sighing, but started squeezing his hand hard. So he wiggled his other hand free then, with his lips still in the back of her neck, he slid it up under the bottom of her t-shirt and spread his palm wide against the back of her ribs. For someone just lying down she was starting to breathe awfully fast.
Her hand clenched his harder, and a smile appeared on Will's face, which be buried deeper down her neck. Then his lips traced the top of her spine down as far as the friendly distended collar of her t-shirt would let him. His free hand meanwhile rounded the side of her ribs and came to rest under her breasts. She gasped and clenched harder.
Oh good.
From here on it was a simple matter of letting go of her hand, which immediately started clenching at her pillow while her breath caught then quickened again, then he let his own hand travel down and sneak into those cute nerdy little pants of hers. Very warmly welcoming they were too, so Will's fingers did not care to hasten their visit. His other hand was busy trying to keep her right and left breasts equally happy while his lips travelled from the bottom of her neck into her hair and back again.
In all this he somehow found time to wonder whether to stop and make her beg him to go on, but he knew that she would have, and she did too, and that was good enough for them both, for now.
Still, he let his bottom hand wander off a few times, tracing a moist finger up towards her navel on its way from the front of her to between the creases of her buttocks and back again. She'd turned almost onto her front by now, one knee hiked up high. Who'd have dreamt a quant could be so intellectually rigid, yet so physically supple?
Will's bottom hand had just found its idle way from the front of her to the back again when she moaned then shuddered for a delightfully long while, then went limp. He slipped his hand back out of her pants and onto her tummy and pulled her back close to him.
Then he kissed the top of her head again and this time they did both go to sleep, and as they slipped into oblivion it would have been hard to tell which of them was prouder of themselves.
x
He came to when her hand slid over his, much colder now than when he'd last held it.
Or had he?
But yes, he must have, for this was Elisabeth Bennet's hair catching on his scratchy cheek as she rubbed it with the back of her head. The heady smell of it, and the light softness of her fingers tracing idle shapes on the back of his hand. She turned around to face him and cupped the sides of his face. She kissed him and though still half asleep he kissed her back, until she pulled back and smiled, and he opened his eyes and smiled back. Could this really be happening?
Then she announced she was going for a shower and he thought: no wait wait wait, not so fast. He pulled her in for another kiss, but then the rest of her came pressing against him, not just her lips, and Will hastily pulled away again, before her hands got any fresh ideas of trying their luck in his pants. He sighed and watched her pull her t-shirt off and disappear into the en-suite.
Rather than sit here and mope, or fantasise about her naked under the water, Will got up and made for the kitchen. Morning coffee: that he could deliver, still.
The cafetiere was already out, and Will soon located the bin to empty it into. For the rest the kitchen and, come to think of it, the rest of the room were almost as clean as they were bonkers. And the pair of marigolds by the sink didn't even look like Elisabeth's size.
Huh.
Will switched the kettle on and got on with rinsing the cafetiere. He'd just found a bag of coffee when Ben stepped in and stood for what felt like a long time, staring at him.
'Morning, Ben. I'm sorry, did I wake you?'
'No.'
Ben stood there and stared on. He was fully dressed, Will was almost fully undressed.
'Is this yours?' Will asked, holding the bag of coffee, but Ben shook his head no and moved his stare from Will's face down his bare torso, over to his bare legs down to his bare feet and back up again. Like some blue-google-eyed full body scanner, in some really dodgy prison drama. Will hoped, for Ben's sake, that he enjoyed the sight, and gave him his fullest phoniest smile:
'I'm making a pot, would you like some?'
'Yes please.'
'Sure,' Will said, and grabbed another mug from the cupboard, conscious of Ben's eyes now staring at his back.
'Was it you she was snogging couple of weeks ago by the front door,' Ben asked as soon as Will was facing him again. More in the tone of a dirge, than of a question. Even more in the tone of a threat than a dirge, actually. Will leant back against the counter and took his smile off:
'Aha.'
'Huh,' Ben said with another full up and down body scan.
Will was willing the kettle to boil, while resisting the urge to square up to the guy and ask him what his problem was, dodgy-prison-drama-style, when the door opened again on some larger, fleshier, ginger male of the species. This one was dressed in ripped black clothes.
'Hi! I'm Mac, I have the upstairs room. You must be Will,' Mac-from-the-upstairs-room said, striding over and holding his hand out. News sure travelled fast in this flat. Will shook the guy's hand and willed the kettle to boil faster.
'Mind if I top it up, 'fraid the girlfriend needs rehydrating, han han,' Mac laughed.
'Sure,' Will said, conscious that two pairs of eyes were now staring hard at him, and the damn kettle was going to take even longer to boil.
'It was him,' Ben said to Mac, meaning: it was him standing there, who had the audacity to snog our flatmate a couple of weeks back. Mac nodded, then had the good grace to stop staring:
'So you're a trader, right?' he asked, and Will nodded. 'How d'you like it?'
'I like it. And you're… a musician?' Will ventured, taking in the amps and plectrums lying around the room.
'I am! I play bass,'
'Great,' Will said, thinking of Georgie's friend Denny, and of his cat. Perhaps you had to be extra friendly before they trusted you with the larger instruments. Maybe in case you ever got tempted to use a spare G string to strangle your more laconical, bug-eyed flatmate.
'I have a cousin who's a stock broker I think,' Mac was saying, 'Well his Dad is: does the name John Ellender ring a bell?'
'Vaguely, yes. I think they're a small specialist house, we wouldn't really have any business with them.'
'Right.'
But it's jolly nice of you to pretend to take an interest, Will thought. And of the three of you in this flat, you're the last one I would have expected to have a cousin in the brokerage business, let alone be willing to own up to it.
Mac started humming and sticking stinky herbal teabags into mugs, then mercifully the kettle clicked.
'No no, after you,' Will insisted.
Mac hummed on and poured water into his mugs. Meanwhile Ben had sidled up to Will's side, by way of the fridge:
'Milk?' he offered with a smile like the Cheshire cat's.
'Thank you but no.'
'I'm just going to heat it up in the microwave, it's no trouble doing enough for three,' Ben insisted, still with his strange smile. And with a brand-new enthusiasm for full sentences which would have aroused Will's suspicions, even had he not sussed out the trap that was being laid for him:
'Sorry, Ben: Elisabeth doesn't like the smell of hot milk on an empty stomach so I'll pass as well for now. But you go ahead.'
Ben quit smiling and got on with the microwave while Will poured water over the coffee, gave it a stir, and probably didn't wait long enough before pressing it down, but he'd had quite enough of Ben for one morning.
'Sorry mate, sucks to be Tom,' Will heard Mac say before the lounge door had quite finished closing back behind him.
Well, he thought, Ben sure knew how to make it suck not to be Tom, as well.
x
He'd just set his two mugs down onto the chest of the drawer, and picked his jacket off the floor with a view to hanging it somewhere, when the bathroom door opened on a cloud of steam from which Elisabeth herself emerged, pink and glowing, and wrapped in a towel not quite wide enough to cover both all of her bum, and all of her boobs.
They stared at each other mutely, and Will only realised he must have dropped his jacket right back down when he saw her eyes unglue themselves from the midline of his own torso and follow the trajectory of said jacket to the floor. The cigar tube had rolled out of its breast pocket.
'Was… that… also… part of, the… plan?' she asked in a croaky, halting voice.
He nodded, still transfixed by all that glistening skin of hers, and quite incapable to choose which end of her towel to stare at, they were both so equally tempting.
This meant he completely missed the fact that she was meanwhile showering him in her sweetest smile yet.
'Will?'
He looked up from the cigar case and into her glowing, happy face. Did life get any better than this?
'In case of an emergency,' he explained, 'you know – against one of your bigger freak outs?'
With wide eyes she held his gaze and nodded, then her gaze travelled down to the cigar again, then up more slowly from Will's navel to his shoulders, but finally she set her eyes down onto his toes:
'Will, you're so…' she stopped, and chewed her bottom lip.
What was she trying to do to him?
Well never mind because whatever it was: Hallelujah, it felt like it was starting to work down below Will's waist. He took one step closer to her.
'… you're so credibly good to me,' she said, fixing him with very careful emphasis, then smiled again: 'You do realise that, if I still freak out now and again, it's only because I can't believe my luck, right?'
He smiled back and shrugged:
'Same,' he nodded, and swallowed hard, and took another step towards her. By now he barely had to stretch his arm to flick that towel right off her, but he thought they'd both enjoy the anticipation first.
'I mean whatever you did last night,' she said, her eyes tracing a vertical line down from his stomach, 'it's already the best I've ever had.'
'I bet you say that to all the boys.'
She smiled and shook her head no, slowly. He took one more step towards her and tried very hard not to gloat but come on, he was only human:
'Well if that's true that's simply a great tragedy, Elisabeth. You literally haven't seen any of my game yet.'
She nodded slowly at his now obvious erection, then looked back up. She batted her pretty, still damp eyelashes at him as she said in her most calculated phoney French yet, the saucy wench:
'Do you mean to say you have forrrm forrr me, Will?'
Didn't he just. He nodded and took another step closer, so she had to crane her neck to hold his gaze. Which she did, as well as reaching one hand onto his hip while still holding on to her towel with the other.
'You cold?' he asked, blowing not at all casually at the goosebumps that had just appeared on her shoulder.
She shook her head no, pulled his hip closer to hers and said:
'Still not freaking out?'
'Nope. You?'
She bit her lips and shook her head no.
Good.
'Right, off with that towel then, you've pulled.'
THE END
On the Market is Copyright Mel Liffragh 2021, all rights reserved.
So this is it - for now anyway. There might be a bonus chapter at some point when (my) life slows down a bit, as even I still can't wait for Georgie and Elisabeth to meet and swap views on men, women, cats and cars.
Can't promise anything, but if you go and read A Bee in her Bonnet in the meantime that'll certainly encourage me to write some more.
Thanks again to everyone who's read this.
Have a great summer
Mel