Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
True to his word, Will’s leg is performance issue, which he explains is some kind of premium prosthesis for mobility, to my understanding, and he’s got the moves down in the club too.
We laugh and dance, and I spin, showing him what I can do.
On the dance floor, I’m free, and my worries slip away.
Eventually, we retreat for drinks at the bar to catch our breath.
“You never told me you could dance like that,” Will says, impressed, over his cocktail.
“You never asked, as the saying goes.” I grin affectionately at him. “That’s why.”
He laughs. “Seriously, you’re excellent.”
“Well, to come clean, I did lots of dance classes as a kid, and I taught dance classes during university. I always wanted to go on tour with a pop star, and one summer, I did a tour as a dancer for one during uni. That was a great summer job.”
He looks startled and impressed at the same time. “That explains a lot. And makes sense, judging on what I saw out there on the dance floor.”
“I love to move. As you’ve seen, sitting still isn’t my strength. My mom wanted to channel my energy as a kid from full-blown chaos into something more expressive and less destructive. I loved it. So much fun. I love to dance any chance I get. And it’s hard for me to sit for too long.”
We gaze at each other for a long moment of mutual admiration.
Then we’re kissing, and apparently, that must be quite the show because there’re cheers around us.
Grinning, I bow, and Will’s laughing, and that moment in the club under the strobe lights stands out.
The way his dimples crease, the sheepish gesture he makes when brushing his hair from his eyes.
And then I take his hand, and he squeezes mine.
We consider each other for a long moment, searching each other’s eyes.
The way I feel with him is special. I love to have fun and go dancing, including on dates, but with Will, it’s more.
Decidedly more. And to my shock, I like it.
I like it a lot. And the danger is wanting this to continue.
Because last weekend was meant to be a one-off.
Now, my feelings are off the charts, and judging by his face, he’s having the same problem.
“Let’s sit down,” Will says at last. “I could probably use a break.”
We find a couple of seats in a booth, where he sighs with relief. “Fun, but definitely muscles I don’t use often,” he confesses. “And I don’t want to overdo it with my leg. If I get too much rubbing or blisters, then it makes life difficult. I’m not used to dancing these days.”
I wince. “Yeah, totally makes sense.”
He gives a wry smile. “I wish I could keep up with you.”
“You totally did.” I give him an affectionate smile, shifting closer and sliding my arm around Will. He leans into me. “And I’m having the best time with you.”
“Me too. I think… does this count as a second date? I mean, we did say last weekend was a one-off to get this out of our systems. Then look what happened. In the prep room, no less.” Will shakes his head.
I laugh, delighted. “No regrets.”
“Me either. But… I think we should continue to keep this secret from work. I don’t know what they would think. And save your reputation.”
“Save my reputation? Save yours!” I laugh over my drink, shaking my head at him. “But yeah, I don’t know what they feel about workplace dating. I mean… do you think we have this out of our systems now?”
Will gazes at me, his expression soft. “No.”
“Huh.” My heart thunders. I give him a squeeze. There are no words for this incredible feeling, knowing he wants more of me. And I’m not totally freaking out over it. Secret is better. Like we can test the waters. “We could do this again. I’m into it—into you.”
“Are you seeing other people?” Will asks hesitantly.
“Well…” I redden slightly. “I was. But you know, I kept measuring up my dates to you, to be honest. And they don’t compare. So, I’m not seeing anyone else right now. To be honest, you’re all I think about.”
Then it’s his turn to lean in and kiss me till blood rushes in my ears. “You don’t know how much that means to me. I would love to do this again. You’re so intriguing to me. And funny. And hot.”
“Shh, it’ll go to my head.” I grin at him. “Then, I’ll be even more annoying.”
He squeezes me with his arm. “You’re perfect to me.”
“You’re perfect to me too.”
And if he wasn’t holding on to me, I’m sure I would float away. The best night ever, in the chaos of this London club. We’re washed in pink light, and the music thumps on, but it’s no comparison to what my heart’s doing.
And it’s much later when we’re back in Will’s bed, tangled in the sheets together. Everything really is perfect right now. And I want to live in this moment forever, as the sun rises over us.
We sleep in late and linger over breakfast. When he’s in the shower, I take stock of my new surroundings.
Everything is neat and orderly in Will’s flat, verging on the minimal, but definitely bright and airy.
Except there’s an overflowing bookcase in nearly every room.
A side table has a few framed photographs of Will with his family.
I zero in on Will, at different ages. Some with his brother, Gray, and his parents.
They all look happy together, especially when Will was younger.
The two more recent family portraits have Will looking solemn in them.
Then, there’re a couple with Will in football jerseys, one making some athletic kick in the air with the ball destined for the net.
There’s another where he’s shaking hands with someone, holding a paper.
Some people wear sports jerseys, other suits.
Curious, I lean in to try to figure out what’s what.
It doesn’t quite look like university graduation, especially since there’s another one where he’s in a gown in front of a picturesque Cambridge college with his parents and brother, which clearly is his grad.
I pick up the photo where he holds the paper, trying to suss it out.
“That’s signing my contract.”
“Oh Jesus.” I jump, having not heard him approach, and whirl. “Shit. I’m sorry. Caught red-handed, snooping.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He shakes his head, his hair wet and a towel around his shoulders, his admirable chest gloriously exposed. He wears cotton pajama pants. “I’m not.”
“Makes sense. Who or what were you signing with?”
“My new football club, when I was eighteen. In the end, Chelsea won out.”
“Like… Chelsea? As in…”
“Yeah.” He looks wry. “That was before.” Gently, he takes the photo from me and sets it down in its place amid the other photos. “And this is after.”
I go to him, catching his face in my hands to give him a deep, thorough kiss, till he shudders. Eventually, we straighten. His expression is hard to read. He’s breathless too, slightly dazed, but also a little guarded.
Will clears his throat. “Before you say anything, I’ve had some time to get used to my new reality. Elite sport was out for me. And I had to find a new direction. I guess I’m still trying to find it, now that I’m down a leg.”
I skim my hands down over his biceps, catching him before he turns away. “Hey. I’m not judging. The opposite. I’m in awe of you. Because you’re incredible, Will.”
He looks less certain about that, but I’m confident. “And you’ve got two legs. One’s just not factory issue.”
Then he laughs, shaking his head at me, and the moment eases.
“Did you ever think about doing adaptive sports?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I wasn’t up for it. Physically, of course, not for a while. Mentally, most of all. But I also acknowledge sometimes I’m my own worst enemy. Maybe I simply have a bad attitude, but it’s too painful to go there. I needed to do something else.”
“Economics?”
“Economics, yes. And museums.” He gives me a half smile. “And if it wasn’t for museums, I wouldn’t have met you or have you here right now in my flat.”
“I’m so happy to be here with you.” I slide my arms around his waist, and his kiss is heaven, with just the right amount of spice. “Mm.”
He grasps my ass. “And all of the dancing explains this.”
I laugh. “That’s one way to look at things. Or my ass, especially.”
“You have a very fine bottom. I love looking at it.”
Which sends me into peals of laughter, because he sounds so formal and yet so charming at the same time. He looks a little confused.
“Was it something I said?” he asks. “About your arse?”
“It was great. Top marks.” I wheeze, tears streaming. I do my best to look more serious. “Okay. Right. I probably should get going to let you do the things you need to do on the weekend.”
“It’s a sensible idea.” Will hesitates. He lifts his eyebrows hopefully. “Would you stay for lunch first? I mean, I would hate for you to go hungry.”
“Absolutely. Great point.”
And I stay for lunch. After lunch, we find ourselves unable to keep our hands off each other. Instead of me leaving, we spend the afternoon urgent in bed together at first, then languid like we’ve dissolved our bones. It’s dizzying, this feeling. Such a rush beyond description.
And, in the end, I end up staying over on Saturday night too.