“I have no secrets. There is no problem for me”
He nods slowly.
“But for you…”
“I’m not used to talking about myself.”
“I understand that. And if you don’t want to?—”
He shakes his head. “We have to do it. For the case.”
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, or worse, have your privacy violated because of me.”
“I just… I just need…”
I stand up and walk towards him. I take his hands and lift them with mine. “I’ll go easy on you, I promise. And if at any point you feel uncomfortable…”
“Thank you.”
“It’s me who should be thanking you. For everything you do.”
“Don’t think about it now. Just eat your pasta.” His hands slip from mine. “I’ll wait for you in bed.”
I swallow that word, along with my unrealistic expectations.
“Don’t forget, I get the chair tonight.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to sleep apart.”
“Nobody would know about that.” I try to play it down to get out of this situation, which could escalate into a visible problem in less than three seconds.
“We need to get comfortable with each other. To get familiar.”
“And you think sleeping together will help?”
“We’ll soon find out, I suppose.”
God, help me. I never believed in you, but this might be the perfect time for an official denial.
* * *
“DO YOU WANT to start?” I ask him after slipping under the sheets. I stay on the edge of the sofa bed, not wanting to take up any of his space or force him to get too close. Rowan is quite fit, let’s say well built, unlike me. I don’t sleep with anyone very often, in fact, I haven’t been with anyone lately. Since the kids have been with me, I have spent every free moment with them. It’s happened in the club a few times, but nothing serious and too… er… forward. Some kissing, some touching in the hallways to the toilets. Nothing more.
I shouldn’t be thinking about touching and kissing now that I’m in bed with Rowan, I know, but how can I take my mind off it?
“You can ask me anything. I have no filter and I am not embarrassed to talk about myself. You will always get the truth from me.” Better to get straight to the questions. Maybe I can distract myself from my impure thoughts.
Rowan lies on his back, his hands on his stomach, the sheet pulled down to his hips.
“If you prefer, I can go freely.”
He turns his head towards me. “I’m sure you can.”
I turn, too. Our eyes lock in the darkness, feeding on the comforting silence we now share. I could spend hours staring into his eyes, imagining what they hide, what they dream.
“Let’s start with something simple.” I decide to break the ice, not wanting Rowan to feel uncomfortable. “Tell me what your favourite food is.”
“Chicken salad.”
