“Since you’re not online to stalk—and that’s fine—I’m just curious…how old are you?”
I laugh. “Is that all? Easy. Twenty-one. Does that meet with your approval?”
“Aye, it does.”
“Do you think any differently about me now?” I ask.
“No. I was just curious.”
“And how old are you, then?” I counter.
“Twenty-five. That makes me an older man.” He laughs, momentarily sitting back in his chair. “You’ll need to respect your elders.”
“Ha.”
I’m not sure how old I expected Ben to be. I’m surprised and not. He looks younger, but knowing that he’s had some success in music, I’m guessing it’s not his first band out of the gate. Later, I’m going to have to do an internet search on him out of politeness’ sake and get a band history, at least. I lift my pint and take a drink.
“And your second question?” I ask.
“It has two parts,” Ben says. “First part is, are you having fun with me?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. No further thought needed on that one. That episode in the stockroom will be seared in my memory for all time. Shit, it must be the drinks making me say these things. Like someone else is in charge of my mouth.
He beams. “I’m having a great time with you.”
I fear I’m grinning inanely at him in response.
“Then…ready for part two of the question?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Would you come home with me now?”
My eyebrows lift and I say yes, or make some sort of noises to that effect, and next thing we’re kissing again—like we’d kissed in the street, like there’s no one around in London but us. And I can’t help but notice it feels like something important after our session in the bar.
Sex is easy. Being vulnerable isn’t.
I’ve let my guard down just a little, something I rarely do. We leave the bar and I give myself over to his lingering kisses and his hands on my hips, leaning in the shadows of Manette Street together, ankle deep in snow.
Chapter Nine
After a walk in darkness, we arrive to a quiet lane of mews houses located not far from Soho, tucked away in the city’s core, which were once stables for carriage horses. The day’s long gone, but the snow blanketing London has created a bright sort of evening with the city lights reflected on white. We’ve escaped into some other London, a sort of magical city where things like this can happen, rather than the usual tired routine I live between work and uni. Ordinarily, I’m waiting for real life to begin a couple of years from now when I’m done. Instead, I’m living right now in this moment, with my arms around Ben, tasting the nape of his neck and the salt of his skin as he tries to navigate the lock to his place in the dark amid distraction.
As soon as the heavy front door shuts and latches, we’re inside leaning against it, kissing something fierce, my hands up under that pink jumper of his with the leaping rabbit appliquéd on the front. He gasps out at my icy hands and catches my face between his as our kisses continue, urgent and hungry.
God, oh God. I can’t think. I don’t want to think.
Forget me. Forget my life.
I’m helping Ben out of his coat and tossing it to the floor, and we pause long enough to kick off boots and tease and gasp before he grabs my hand and takes me to his bedroom. I have no idea where we are exactly, here in the dark together, and quite frankly, I don’t care.
Does he live with anyone? Who knows? Invisible housemates are the best kind, though. And there’s none to be seen. Or heard.
He lightly bites my bottom lip and breaks away long enough to turn on a small lamp, casting a soft glow. It’s enough to see him and bits of the double room we stand in. It’s full of things that I can’t quite make out, odd shapes in the dark. There’s a shine of glass from a tall sash window.
Ben reaches to pull the curtain mostly closed as I catch him and kiss him hard again, our mouths bumping in our haste. He moans and I push him down firmly by his shoulders to sit on the bed.
I strip him of his jumper and throw it on the floor, rewarded with the sight of his pale skin and a scatter of freckles visible in the low light along the tops of his shoulders. With a rough kiss, I press him onto the bed, burning a trail down his chest with eager lips and a wicked scrape of teeth to get his attention. In response, he slides his hands along my back, beneath my shirt, skimming the burn of my skin.
