Chapter 16 #3
‘I can’t believe you’re asking me.’
‘Neither can I, but I genuinely think I’m going to be stuck like this if it’s not loosened up.’
‘Fine. Turn around.’
‘Thank you.’
Slowly, he moves around as much as he can, and I slide down behind him. Now faced with the expanse of his back, I am completely overwhelmed. For a start there’s so much of him and he’s throwing off a lot of heat. I flatten my hands against his shoulder blades. ‘You’re tense.’
‘Hang on.’ He straightens up, then with a dramatic shake, allows his shoulders to fall. ‘Okay, go.’
Okay, go? Yeah, we’re definitely platonic.
‘That’s too soft,’ he complains when I touch him again. ‘I can’t feel that.’
‘Are your crutches too short for you? You do seem to be quite sloped and—’
‘Arghhh.’
My hands flick away. ‘Sorry. Where does it hurt?’’
‘Everywhere,’ he cries.
‘Make up your mind, you want it hard or soft?’ As I crack up laughing, he swears under his breath.
‘Let’s try again.’ This time I listen carefully to his many detailed instructions and finally he starts to relax.
‘I can’t believe you’ll be moving away in two weeks,’ I say.
‘I’d rather not. I pay crazy rent for my place and, honestly, I hate it. Can’t believe I’m thirty-two and happy living back at home.’ Cian takes a breath, and as he exhales, he becomes heavier against my hands. ‘My dad complains but I know he likes having me there. Though he’d never let me stay.’
‘Why not? You two get on so well.’
‘He thinks I need to rebuild my life.’
Ah, without Vic. Of course Brendan doesn’t want Cian at home forever.
‘What’s next on your proforma?’ I ask.
‘Travelling?’ He sounds unsure.
‘Aren’t you a bit old for a gap year?’
‘I am, aren’t I?’ he agrees miserably.
Up until a few months ago I toyed with this idea myself. Not travelling, exactly, more picking up and going somewhere else.
‘Your place is nice.’ Something cricks in his shoulder as he tips his head to the side. ‘Homely.’
Every hint of homeliness in this flat is because of Kasie and her quest to make it ‘cosy’.
‘I’m surprised because I always see you in Crocs and miniskirts, so I understand that you don’t have taste.’ He pulls away before I can push him, then turns to beam at me over his shoulder. ‘I’m kidding.’
We’ve never been this close for this amount of time before. It’s too close. Especially when our eyes lock. Thankfully, he breaks away first, allowing me to refocus on what I’m meant to be doing, which is not wanting him.
After a few seconds he asks, ‘Why am I the only man you’ve ever been friends with?’
‘You’re not. And it’s possibly the wildest claim my parents have ever made about me. I’ve had lots of male friends.’
‘Had?’ He laughs. ‘Past tense. What happened to them? Did you scare them off with your wild flirting and sexual innuendos?’
‘You like it. You practically encourage it.’
‘How?’
‘By being hot,’ I offer, relishing the ability to say something true. ‘You’re a bunch of knots. Are you in pain?’
‘Yes. I am always in pain,’ he deadpans.
I push my thumb into a ball of tension. ‘Is this better?’
‘Pure pleasure. A thing of fantasy.’
‘Good. If you get too excited, I’ll pretend not to notice.’ I fall into him laughing and while he acts offended by it, his shoulders bounce with the effort of keeping his amusement in. ‘Listen,’ he says, ‘no one’s getting an erection to the soundtrack of Barney Rubble.’
‘What is wrong with you today.’ I’m not used to Cian rubbing up against my flirting; it’s far easier when he ignores it.
‘I’ve been hanging around you too much. I’ve become sleazy.’
All I need to do is focus on the rhythmic movement of my thumb circles rather than the way his blue T-shirt moves under my touch and how much I’d like to lay my head against him, or how much I’d like to touch the back of his neck.
What is it about the back of men’s necks?
How long has it been since one of us spoke?
And am I touching him slower and softer than I should be?
‘Okay,’ he says sharply.
My hands fall off as he slouches forward.
‘I think I’m good.’
‘Yeah?’ I ask, my voice high.
It’s the quickest I’ve ever seen Cian move as he grabs his crutch and pushes himself up.
‘Cian.’
‘Yes?’ He turns to face me.
‘We’re friends, right?’
‘Of course.’
‘But we’re not, well, we’re not that type of friends. Are we?’
‘No,’ he agrees, as his eyes dip down to the carpet then back up again.
The atmosphere is loaded, with what, I can’t tell. Regret, embarrassment, confusion? I definitely feel a mix of all three, though who knows what he’s feeling. Possibly nothing at all. I’ve spent the entire afternoon feeling like he was flirting with me and now he’s scrambling to get away.
I walk him to the front door, and we force some small talk about our upcoming week. When he leaves, I slide down against the wall and pull out my phone.
Me: I think I’m falling for someone completely inappropriate. Someone who’s on a major rebound after a decade-long relationship. Someone who said they’d need to be held at gunpoint before dating. Someone who looks beautiful in a blue T-shirt.
Kasie: Undelivered