Chapter 31 Twenty years old #2
He’s looking at me, and there’s something in his gaze that feels different. Both softer, but also more intense. My mind goes back to what he said last night before we got pulled onto the dance floor; that he was thinking about the summer before he left for America.
I miss that time too.
I miss it so much that sometimes it hurts just to be in the same room as him without that closeness.
Is it so bad to want that again? We’re older. And things aren’t as black and white anymore. Sometimes lines are meant to blur.
I know that I want to take the leap, and that part of me will always kick myself if I don’t. Since last night I’ve been thinking that if I wait Sam could end up as the ‘what if’ that haunts me for the rest of my life.
My heart starts to pound and I take a sip of my drink to try and fuel my courage.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask, and he startles at the question.
“What? No, of course not,” he says. “You know I don’t. There’s no one who’s— never mind.” He cuts himself off. “Why?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I watch his face carefully.
“Oh.” His eyes flick down to my bare leg and then quickly back up—like my knee personally offended him. “Why are you telling me that? Is there someone you like? One of the other swimmers?”
For a second, I swear his face twists, but then he schools it back into casual indifference.
“No,” I say. “Nothing on the radar.”
“OK. Cool. Cool. Or… not cool?” His voice is oddly high pitched. “I don’t know. Sorry. My brain’s spaghetti today. Just ignore me.”
“You said some interesting things last night.” I toy with the umbrella in my cocktail.
“You should probably ignore everything I said,” he replies hurriedly. “I was in a deeply philosophical place. Also, beer.”
“You mentioned the summer before you went to America,” I continue, ignoring the way he suddenly goes very still.
“I’ve been thinking. Why don’t we just pretend we’re eighteen again?
Why don’t we just have fun and see what happens?
I want to, Sam. If you don’t, that’s fine.
But I think I’d like to be back in that summer. ”
There. I said it.
My pulse is loud in my ears. It’s his move next.
He looks at me and then back down to where our knees are now touching.
I can see the goosebumps on my skin. He pauses for a long time.
Long enough that I’m just about to withdraw my leg and attempt to recover from this car crash.
But then his hand lands on my knee, and it’s like a frisson of electricity climbs up my body.
How does he still have this effect on me all this time later?
And is this something I would be feeling if someone was truly just a friend?
“Kath.” He puts his beer down and looks straight at me. His eyes are so blue that I could get lost in them. “I’m never not thinking about that summer.”
I gulp. I guess we’re really doing this. His thumb starts to circle gently on my thigh.
“Is this OK?” he asks. And I watch his hand as it inches upwards, slowly moving towards the hem of my skirt. “Because if it’s not OK, and you change your mind about this proposition, we just stop. And everything goes back to how it was. Are you sure you want this?”
“I think we should go back to our room when you finish your beer,” I tell him breathlessly, capturing his hand on my thigh.
“That sounds like a great idea.” He intertwines our fingers and stands, picking up his drink and downing the rest in a few gulps. “It sounds like such a great idea that I think we should do it right now.”
“Someone’s eager,” I laugh as he starts to pull me back up the path to our hotel.
“When it comes to you, KitKat, I'm never not eager.”
“Is that the case?” I ask, as he drags me through the foyer and towards the stairs.
“Yes. I’m so eager that I’m at high risk of embarrassing myself.”
“You could never embarrass yourself around me,” I tell him.
He shoots me a wry look, and I giggle as he pulls me up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Damn his Olympic fitness, I should have asked for a piggyback. We could have gotten to our room faster.
He fumbles with our keycard when we make it to the door, cursing as the light keeps flashing red. When we get into the room, he pushes me against the wall, and I stand on tiptoes to kiss him.
It’s like no time has passed since we last did this. My body remembers his so well, moulding itself to his front.
But there are subtle changes. His chest is broader, his pecs more defined, and his hair is shorter than it was before, courtesy of his pre-Olympic haircut.
I’m distracted from cataloguing the differences as his mouth slants across mine again, and his hand tilts my jaw.
I moan into him, taking a shuddering breath as his lips skate away from my mouth and down my neck.
He nips one place, and then presses an open-mouthed kiss behind my ear a moment later.
It’s an assault to my senses. I feel almost feverish.
Every other man I’ve kissed has always paled in comparison to the way Sam kisses me.
Like he has forever. Like time has stretched out for just the two of us.
I tug his mouth towards mine again, diving my hands into his hair, pulling him even closer.
I try to grind into him but the position doesn’t work, I don’t have the friction I need, and it’s killing me.
A whine of impatience escapes me, a sound I don’t think I’ve ever made except with Sam, and he chuckles.
“Bed?” he asks, breaking our kiss, both of us panting slightly.
“That’s a great idea.” I push him backwards. “I would even say it’s one of your best ones.”
He huffs out a laugh against my mouth as he backs away and sits down on the edge of the mattress.
“Do you know what else would be a great idea?” I tell him, as I stand above him, bracketed by his thighs.
“What?”
“If you took off your shirt and shorts,” I say, kicking off my shoes.
He tugs the shirt over his head, before wriggling out of the shorts, leaving him just in his briefs. I can see him straining at the front of the material. I love that I do this to him. That I can see the reaction his body has to mine.
“I think you should take yours off too then,” he tells me.
I watch his eyes darken as I pull the tank top over my head and step out of the skirt, leaving me just in my underwear.
My distinctly not sexy, last-clean-pair-I-could-find-in-the-suitcase-before-doing-a-wash underwear.
My, used-to-be-bright-pink-but-now-faded-and-only-worn-as-a-last-resort panties.
“I don’t think I could ever get over how beautiful I find you, Kath,” he murmurs as he draws me towards him and presses a kiss to my sternum.