Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
My mind races through a litany of questions—like about the McLaren— which I’m confident aren’t appropriate to ask. Like does he have a boyfriend—like I should care or it’s even relevant, since I don’t believe in boyfriends. Or when he last kissed a guy. Or anybody. Or had his heart broken. Or—
“What’re you thinking over there? You look like I’ve driven over your dog.” Will’s matter-of-fact, glancing over for a moment.
“Oh, you know. Trying very hard to save me from myself. So I don’t say anything dumb. Or inappropriate. Or, you know, offensive.” I gesture broadly. “I mean, I could say anything. I’m a wild card, baby.”
“I can’t think of anything you could say that would be dumb or inappropriate. Maybe offensive.” He laughs. “But listen, you can ask me anything, alright? If I’m not comfortable answering, rest assured, I’ll let you know. Politely.”
“Well, that’s good one of us has a firm grasp on boundaries.
” I do my best to grin, but I still look kind of embarrassed.
I’m trying desperately hard to not be offensive at the very least and, better yet, aiming for irresistible charm.
Which typically is something I’m reasonably good at. Except I’m clearly outcharmed by Will.
At least he laughs. “Go on, then. Try me.”
“You sure?”
“Of course.”
I cough slightly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, and I guess I didn’t know at first, but… God, this already sounds silly—”
“Dylan, please.” There’s a warning note in his voice this time. “Spit it out.”
“Fine. Okay. Er, I didn’t know amputees could drive regular vehicles. That’s probably really ignorant of me, huh?” Heat rises in my face. “I mean, I’m confident I’m not in mortal danger, because you took us to Cumbria and everything. And clearly, you drive every day.”
“A reasonable question.” A quick, fleeting smile crosses his full lips. And I’m distracted again, curse him. “The answer is: it depends on the amputee. And what kind of adaptations they use, prosthetics, all kinds of things.”
“I see.”
“Though I will say they don’t toss the keys at you the moment you leave the hospital to drive home.”
I raise my eyebrows at that. Wisely, I keep my mouth shut for a long moment to give my brain a chance to catch up.
It’s good practice. It’s the first time he’s given any hint about why he’s missing a leg and up a prosthesis.
It’s an opening, and yet I want to tread carefully, on my best behavior. “Do they call you an Uber instead?”
“Pretty much.” He looks entertained at least but doesn’t offer anything else up.
Meanwhile, the symphony crescendos over the speaker in a thrill that leaves goose bumps on my arms. The sunny breaks of the morning in London have given over to soft gray cloud, a solid bank overhead.
It’s not gloomy, and it feels muggy for July.
Will’s tapping his fingers on the wheel in a rhythm along with the music, his shoulders relaxed.
“I’m thinking we’re headed back to Cumbria.” Once out of London’s sprawl, we’re driving north again.
“Not quite. Cambridge. Don’t worry, I’m not taking you to meet my parents. We’re off to explore since you’ve never been.”
I perk up, intrigued. “It’s one of the places my guidebooks recommend to check out. Also, you have parents? Who knew.”
He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and it thrills me that he’s smiling because of me.
Which is a dangerous thought not worth exploring because God help me if it means something, and I’ve avoided meaningful romantic relationships for a long time.
And this is very much make-believe till midnight when our pact expires.
But Will smiles, and I’m smiling, too, as I lean my head back against the headrest. I’m tapping my fingers with the music against the door handle.
Even if it isn’t my usual club music, I can barely keep from moving to any music I hear.
I give him a sidelong glance, more openly admiring than what’s sensible. Safe only because he has his eyes on the road like the responsible driver he is and not on me. His loss, but a win for highway safety.
“You’re lucky I didn’t come out in my furry booties, hot pants, and crop top, by the way. No dress code… what’s a boy to do?”
Will blinks, flickering his gaze over to me for a moment. “I never said fancy dress.”
“Road,” I remind him helpfully with a gesture. “There’s nothing fancy about it.”
“Fancy dress isn’t couture, it’s costume. Was there truly a risk you’d be out in furry booties, hot pants, and a crop top?” he asks with incredulity. “I had no idea that was an option.”
“I bet you’re sorry now we’re not going dancing,” I tease him, patting my sensible clothes and then tugging on my shirt under my lightweight anorak.
“I’ll use my imagination.”
“Oh yeah? I’m all ears. Invested, even, in your vision of me.”
His lips quirk. “Now you’re fishing for compliments.”
“Not at all. I’m curious to know what you think of me. Bet you thought, fuck, Dylan’s obnoxious what with the Mr. McLaren nonsense.”
The smile returns, along with a small shake of his head, his gaze fixed on the road. “No.”
“No?”
“What, then?”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “First, we need to have a couple of rules for today.”
“Rules? What kind of rules?”
“Yes. Such as… we can say anything we want before midnight without repercussion tomorrow. Like writing in ink that vanishes on the first read.”
“The suspense is killing me. Okay. We can say anything we like to each other, done. Though I’m dying to know what you want to say to me in invisible ink, Will. Call me all ears.”
It could be my imagination, but I think he shivers ever so slightly. I glance at him, and there are real goose bumps on his forearms. The air-conditioning, obviously.
“I like it when you say my name like that,” he says.
“Mm, interesting. I like saying your name.”
Will licks his lips. And I redden ever so slightly, but I don’t take back what I said. Because we have a new midnight rule where we can say anything. And I’m going to test this new rule. We’re quiet for a long moment as we both digest this exchange.
“Also: you’re stalling on the original question.” I give him a meaningful look.
It’s his turn to flush. My eyebrows lift as I gaze at him curiously. He can’t possibly be blushing on account of me.
“The truth, Dylan—”
Shit. My turn for goose bumps. The way he says my name is dynamite. Top marks. Fucking hot.
“—is that I thought you were gorgeous on first sight. And then I was mortified that I splashed you on the drive to the museum that first day. I’m terribly sorry.”
“No fucking way.” I sit up more fully in my seat, gawping openly at him. “Are you serious? I figured you thought I was annoying as hell. And I’ll take the apology, thanks.” I grin at him, thrilled. “And on second sight? When I dried off?”
“Just as gorgeous.” Color remains in his face.
“Well, well. Little ol’ me.”
“You underestimate your… appeal. How free you are. It’s remarkable.”
“I don’t know that I’m honestly that free or charming—”
“Take it on good authority—mine—that these are both true.”
I laugh. “Okay. We’ll do this your way, then. Also, I love hearing you confess these thoughts. I’m, uh, well… enjoying it.”
He glances over, bemused.
“Road.” I gesture at the motorway in front of us.
He glances back.
“Now you’re trying to get a greedy look in.”
Will turns off at the sign for Grantchester.
Before long, we’re parked and walking to the Grantchester Meadows Tea Room, Will informs me.
Soon, we entered the promised lush meadow, dotted with lounge chairs around tables, and we claim one for ourselves.
There are lots of people around, tourists and students, judging by the number of bikes lying around and propped against the trees.
We have tea and cake and bask in the warmth of the afternoon.
I remember Will’s migraine from our last road trip.
“It’s not too bright or anything?” I ask over my lemon cake slice.
“No, this is great,” he assures me from beneath the brim of his navy sunhat. “I’m fine today.”
“Okay. Please let me know if that changes.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you.”
Satisfied, I nod and polish off the rest of my cake. Then, I fold my hands behind my head on the lounger, enjoying the sunbeam and also the sneaky admiring glance Will gives me.
“Now you can get all the greedy looks in you want,” I tease him.
Caught, he laughs, then looks at me, his face softening. “Well, Dylan. You’ve given me a lot to look at.”
“Ha. You’ve seen nothing yet. Plus, you haven’t seen me dance yet either. Not properly. Then you can see me in real action.”
Will chuckles. “I’m not sure there’s much dancing planned for the meadow, to be honest.”
“Real shame. You’ll need to use your imagination, then. But hey, I’m your meadow party boy.”
“Let’s go explore it,” Will suggests as we finish our tea.
And soon, we’re walking along the River Cam beneath sunny July skies.
The path is busy with walkers and cyclists enjoying the day.
More than anything, I’m more than happy with Will in the hum of the afternoon.
Even if my imagination is going wild about the things we could do in a meadow if there isn’t a crowd around.
“I went to Cambridge,” Will tells me. “For my economics degree.”
I nod as we pause beneath the shade of a tree on the outskirts of Cambridge. We pause to sit on a fence and take a break from the sun. Will takes some sunscreen out of his bag and applies more to his face and arms, then passes the tube over to me. I follow suit.
“Did you like it?” I ask, curious. “I mean, admittedly, I’m dying to know how you went from economics to a museum internship.”
“I did like it. But I have to admit it’s not my passion, though it’s interesting and useful. Economics can open a lot of doors.”
“Why the museum door?” I can’t help it, even if it fringes on rehashing our early arguments back at work over cronyism and the like.
It’s dangerous territory, but it’s even more dangerous sitting so close to him.
We’ve been very careful not to touch each other in case we fall back into the one-bed situation back in the hotel that time.
And so he knows I’m not trying to rile him up, I put my hand over his between us on the fence.
His lips part, and he gives a soft huff.
Will glances down at our hands, flushing in a delightful way as I look at him.
He holds my gaze. There’s a lingering moment while we search each other’s eyes, trying to suss each other out.
I could kiss him, here amid the expanse of fields and the flow of the Cam and the promise of the summer’s day.
Yet I hold back. And so does he.
“The museum door,” Will says at last, a little dazed.
“It’s something I could be passionate about.
With my family, we often went to museums. Gray is a gallerist, in Cambridge.
He read Art History, though he’s now working in contemporary art.
The whole art world felt forbidden to me.
He was the proper artist, even though I drew a little too.
I was the academic one. And the athlete.
” Will gives me a solemn look at the confession.
“So that’s how I went to the museum path in the end. ”
“You’re totally free to do what you want.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Some of us don’t have as many options.”
It’s hard to imagine that, with the McLaren and doors opening for him so easily, but I don’t bring it up because that would provoke him.
And I don’t want to provoke him quite that way.
I’ll take a different route. Instead, I slide my hand gently up his forearm, enjoying the sensation of the firm, lithe muscle beneath his skin. When he shivers, I smile.
“Don’t underestimate your power,” he says softly, his gaze fixed on me till he looks away.
“Don’t underestimate yours.”
He shakes his head, exasperated. There’s a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
“Aside from being very attractive, Dylan, you’re… something very much moreish.”
“What’s that?”
“Wanting more.”
“Huh.”
Then I realize we’re sitting on a fence, our feet braced on the lower railing. And I realize I’ve made a man with a prosthesis probably do something out of his comfort zone.
“Oh my God, is this comfortable for you? Sitting like this? With your… you know… leg situation.” I’m alarmed.
That breaks the tension, and he laughs. “I’m fine, Dylan. I have a good prosthesis and a good sense of balance. If it wasn’t okay, I’d let you know. Like the migraine situation.”
“Shit. I assumed…”
“It’s okay. Most people do.”
“I don’t think assumptions are okay because the majority of people make them.” I frown slightly. “I think there’s a logical problem there, Mr. Economist.”
Will winces. “I think I preferred Mr. McLaren, actually.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Be careful what you wish for.” I’m quiet for a minute. “And all this walking is okay?”
“It’s fine. Really.” He looks embarrassed, and I feel embarrassed in turn for making him feel that way. “But it’s really thoughtful of you to check in. I’ll let you know when I get tired. And we can always take a taxi back to the Landie when we’re done in town.”
“Well, okay. Deal.” And there’s another moment where I could kiss him, but then he looks away again, and I don’t push my luck.
Fair. It’s busy, and I don’t know his comfort with affection out in public. Or affection, generally. My way of expressing myself is usually with touch. But I get that he’s more reserved than me. I don’t want to make him even more uncomfortable when I can see something hesitant in his eyes.
“Ready to show me some more sights?” I ask.
“Ready.” He gazes at me for a moment longer than necessary, like he’s really taking stock of me. It’s my turn for a cascade of goose bumps to cover my arms.