Chapter 11

The next evening, I made dinner as usual, but there was no sign of Arthur. When fifteen minutes had passed beyond his usual time for knocking on my door, I called him, fearing he may have lost his nerve. The phone rang several times before he eventually picked it up.

"Arthur, are you okay?" I asked.

"Yes! I'm sorry, I was ironing my shirt. I had to wash it after yesterday."

"Don't you have other shirts?"

"I like the green one. I want to wear the same outfit tonight. I feel good in it. I don't want to fail because I'm wearing different clothes."

"Okay. I'll see you soon." I didn't argue with him about that. The red suit, golden waistcoat, and green shirt clearly helped him feel confident.

Five minutes later he was at my door, looking as dashing as before in the outfit. We ate the meal I'd made, although Arthur's slow eating only gave him enough time to eat half of his.

"I'm not really hungry. I'm too nervous," he confessed. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. We can always get something else after your show." I took the plates away and headed for my room. "I just need to get changed."

I put on my only other nice dress—a black one with lace sleeves. I wasn't used to having occasions where dressing up was required. Pogo's wasn't a club that had a dress code, but I didn't want to show Arthur up by wearing a casual outfit when he was so smart, and when this night was so important to him. I even put on the dreaded high heels, hoping it wasn't icy out, or I'd probably end up on my arse in the gutter.

At Pogo's, I sat at the same table I'd occupied the previous night. There wasn't long to wait—only ten minutes before Arthur's allotted time. After he'd spent the journey there fidgeting and laughing at intervals, I worried his anxiety would get the better of him, even though last night had gone so well. Perhaps signing a contract and getting paid to do this would make a difference, but when he was introduced by the compere, he strode onto the stage with confidence and took his place behind the microphone.

During Arthur's performance, everyone laughed most of the time. I glanced around at the other tables, unable to see everyone in the gloom, but those I could see were laughing and clapping. Those at the far side could be heard, adding their sounds of approval to the crowd. They loved Arthur and his quirky jokes, some of which he made up based on himself and his issues.

When I met him afterwards, he was grinning widely, and held an envelope in one hand. "Mr Pogo paid me," he said proudly. "He was watching from the side of the stage. I'm surprised I didn't forget all my jokes and laugh; I was so nervous." He tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket, then grasped my hand. "What shall we do now? Coffee and cake? Or how about—?" He paused. "You like wine, don't you? We had some at the Chinese restaurant."

"I like wine," I confirmed.

"Let's go there." He pointed across the street to a wine bar I'd never been to but knew by reputation. It was classy, served wine and cocktails, and had a piano player entertaining the patrons. We crossed the street, me clinging to Arthur's arm to keep my balance on the light scattering of snow in my stupid high heels. A doorman opened the door for us and offered to take our coats. Arthur kept his jacket on, but I handed over my heavy coat.

As we walked to the bar a couple of men stared at me, one with an obvious leering expression. I ignored it, but Arthur scowled and gritted his teeth. I gripped his hand and squeezed. "Take no notice," I said quietly. "I'm with you. You're the only one who has my attention."

He relaxed a little. "I shouldn't be surprised they're looking. You're beautiful." Suddenly, he grinned. "And you're with me. All they can do is look. What would you like to drink?"

"White wine, please."

Arthur ordered two glasses of white wine, and we found a small table to sit at in a corner. The pianist was in full swing, playing jazz-style tunes. Three couples danced on the small dancefloor to one side. We sipped our wine and watched, Arthur tapping the toe of one foot. By the time we finished our drinks, two of the couples had sat down.

"Do you want to?" Arthur indicated the dancefloor and smiled shyly.

"Sure, I'd love to."

He got up and offered me his hand like a gentleman—a little old-fashioned maybe, but I loved it. We stepped onto the small floor and began to dance to the jaunty music, a far cry from our quick waltz in the street. Arthur was an amazing dancer, and led me through the steps when I faltered, unsure of the footwork.

We continued dancing through four tunes before I sat down, and Arthur went back to the bar for some more wine and a dish of mixed nuts. We stayed in the bar another hour, then Arthur retrieved my coat and we headed out into the cold. A light shower of snow fell as we hurried to the station to catch a train home.

The smile didn't leave Arthur's face from the moment he'd realised he had me, and the other men looking at me couldn't have me. He looked happy the entire time we sat in the bar and danced, and even as we skirted the piles of garbage at the side of the street on the way to the station. He was still smiling when we had to walk up the stairs because the lift at the apartment block had broken again. He climbed the extra flights to my floor and walked me to my door.

"Would you like to come in for coffee?" I offered. My heart raced as I remembered the last time we'd had a proper date and he'd come in for coffee. I wanted more, but I wasn't sure he would be ready for it. Perhaps he'd kiss me, though. He hadn't all evening, and I longed to kiss him.

"Yes, please."

I hung up my coat in the hall, and Arthur hooked his jacket onto the peg beside it. He sat in the living room while I made coffee, and when I joined him, I sat beside him on the sofa. His smile had slipped a little, and his knee bounced as he began to look agitated. He put his coffee mug down to avoid spilling the contents. I slid my hand into his.

"What's wrong, Arthur?"

"Nothing," he said too quickly, and licked his lips. I knew he was remembering the aftermath of our last date, the same way I was. I caught a glimpse of the bulge in his pants before he rested his arm across his lap. "Can I kiss you?"

"Of course you can." I let go of his hand and touched his arm, ran my fingers up and down the silky material of his shirt sleeve.

"I don't want things to go wrong this time."

"They won't. I love you, Arthur. You have nothing to worry about."

"I love you too. That's why I don't want to spoil it." He turned towards me at last and cupped my face, then slowly leaned closer until our lips met. His kiss was sweet and gentle, his lips caressing mine, the tip of his tongue teasing until I pressed more firmly against his mouth to encourage him to deepen it.

He hummed with pleasure as he kissed me more heatedly and slid his arms around me to pull me closer. My pulse quickened and I felt the kiss everywhere, my body tingling with excitement just as it had the first time. I longed to touch him; to unfasten his shirt and slip my hands inside; to encourage him to lie down with me; but I only touched his neck and stroked his hair.

Eventually, he broke the kiss, his lips red and glistening, his breathing fast and uneven. "Can we, um, can we—?" Colour crept over his cheeks.

"You want to lie down with me?" I whispered.

"Mm. Yes." He leaned over to unfasten his shoes and slid them off.

My sofa was long and wide, and offered plenty of room for us to lie down facing each other, our heads on a cushion. I rested my hand on Arthur's chest and felt his rapid heartbeat keeping time with mine. He ran his fingers through my hair, then placed his hand on my waist.

"I don't want to spoil things," he said again.

"You won't. Whatever you want, I want too. We can just lie here and kiss and cuddle if you want to. Of you can touch me, or I can touch you. Don't worry about it. Don't think too much. Just do what feels right for you."

"You're amazing. You know all the right things to say." Arthur's smile returned. He slid his arms around me and pulled me against him. We shuffled our legs around until we found a comfortable position with one of his knees between mine. His erection nudged my hip and he moved his lower body away.

"It's okay," I murmured. I slipped my arm around his waist and guided him closer again. He groaned as his groin came into contact with me. "Kiss me again," I encouraged.

His mouth covered mine, less hesitant this time. He crushed his lips against mine and thrust in with his tongue, reminding me of his heated kisses all those weeks ago. I doubted this night would end the same way and I knew I should discourage him from rushing it again, but I longed to be in bed with him, without several layers of clothing separating us.

Arthur pulled his lips from mine to suck in a breath, then lowered his face to my neck and nibbled the skin below my ear. I shivered and rolled my head back as he nipped the sensitive spot, then made his way down the side of my neck to my collarbone. I ran my hands up and down his back, encouraging him as he rocked his lower body against mine. A slight movement of my hips, and his trapped erection pressed against me in just the right place. I slid my leg up over his and held him tighter. He continued to buck gently, rubbing our groins together and emitting soft grunts of pleasure. He lowered his hand from my waist and cupped my butt through my dress. Another minute of grinding against each other, and his body shuddered to a halt as he came. Rather than wrench away from me in a panic, he pressed his face into my neck and snatched his hand from my arse.

"Hell. I'm sorry," he muttered. "I didn't mean—I got carried away again."

"It's okay to get carried away." I stroked my hand over his hair. "You liked it, right?"

"Yes."

"I did, too. I know this is all new to you, but trust me, I want it just as much as you do. I love being with you like this. Whatever you want to do with me is okay."

He lifted his head and met my eyes. "I really didn't hurt you that other time?"

"No. I loved it. I love you."

"I love you, too." He smiled again. "I'm not very good at this. I never had anyone to talk to about this stuff. I only know what I've seen on the TV or videos. I don't want to be a disappointment."

"You could never disappoint me, Arthur. Let's just take it one step at a time, okay?"

"Okay." Slowly, he pulled away and sat up. "I think I should go now. Do you want to have breakfast with me tomorrow?"

"I'd love to. I'm not working."

"I am, but not until the afternoon. Will you come to my apartment? I'll make breakfast."

"Sure, I'd love that." I got up and he put his shoes back on. I fetched his jacket for him, and he put it on, then pulled the envelope from the inside pocket.

"I forgot. This is for you. I only bought wine out of it."

"You don't have to do that," I protested.

"Yes, I do. I promised. I want to pay back what you spent helping me as soon as I can. I won't feel right about it otherwise."

"All right. Thank you." I took the envelope, then returned his kiss before he went to the door. "I'll see you in the morning. What time?"

"Eight?"

I nodded. "Goodnight, Arthur."

He let himself out and I locked the door after him.

The next morning, I was at Arthur's door at exactly eight o'clock, knocking for the third time after he didn't answer my first two attempts. I tried the door, but it was locked, and I started to worry, unable to get the image out of my mind of him lying on the couch bleeding almost to death. Suddenly, the door opened.

"Arthur!" It was obvious something was wrong. He was still wearing his pyjama pants and a T-shirt, hair unbrushed, and a shadow of stubble on his jaw. His eyes were dark and sad, his mouth turned down at the corners. "Arthur, what's wrong?" I slipped through the door and closed it behind me.

He shrugged and turned away to lead me into the living room. "Nothing. Just a bad day." He sat down on the sofa on a rumpled blanket, where he had apparently slept.

"Didn't you go to bed last night?"

"No."

I sat beside him and took his hand. "Are you upset about last night?"

"No." He shook his head to emphasise it. "I'm sorry. It's just a bad day. I'll be all right."

"Have you taken your meds?"

"Yes." He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry I didn't make breakfast."

"Don't worry about that. Don't your meds help these feelings at all?"

"They do, but nothing makes them go away completely." He pulled his hand free of mine and sunk his head into his hands. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this."

"Don't apologise to me, Arthur. I love you. That means I'm here for you whether things are good or bad. Do you want me to make breakfast? Or would you rather be alone?"

"Don't go." Slowly, he pulled his legs up onto the sofa and curled up on his side with his head in my lap. "Don't go," he repeated.

"I won't go." I pulled the blanket over him, and rested my hand on his head, lightly stroking his hair. I hated to see him so miserable, but I knew I couldn't fix it. I could only let him know I was there. Tears slid down his face and made my jeans damp. Eventually, he fell asleep.

I looked around the room and spotted a book on the table, just within reach. I grabbed it and read for a while as Arthur slept. An hour passed, then he opened his eyes and quickly jerked upright. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I'm sorry I'm such a waste of time."

"Don't say that." I put the book down and rested my hand on his knee. "You can't help feeling like this. It's an illness. Don't ever think of yourself as a waste of anyone's time. I love you, Arthur."

"What did I do to deserve you? It must have been something good." He sighed and forced his trembling lips to smile. "I need a shower. What time is it?"

"Almost ten. Shall I make some coffee?"

"Yes, please." He gathered up the blanket and shuffled out of the room.

I busied myself in the kitchen making coffee and toast. Fifteen minutes later, Arthur appeared wearing a shirt, pants, and a sweater, his hair wet from the shower and his face clean-shaven. He drank his coffee and ate one piece of toast, silent and sad. I didn't try to make conversation but ate my own breakfast. When I put my plate down, Arthur suddenly moved closer to my side and slid his arm around my shoulders.

"I love you," he said. "Thank you. I'll be better tomorrow."