15
‘Hi again,’ Ben says, standing up to greet me as I approach. ‘So have you got any energy left after this afternoon?’
There’s a bag by his feet that he didn’t have earlier. ‘What have you got in mind?’ I ask. I assume it’s something to do with whatever is inside.
‘I had a few bits stashed in the car that I thought might come in handy as it’s such a beautiful evening.’ He rummages around in the holdall. ‘I’ve got a frisbee, pétanque balls, some table tennis bats...’
I smile at him. ‘Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a triathlon. Loser buys dinner; winner gets to choose where?’
He laughs. ‘Deal. I hear the Ledbury’s summer menu is pretty special. I look forward to finding out.’
‘In your dreams!’ I grab the frisbee and fling it high into the air. ‘It’ll be the tasting menu at Gordon Ramsay, I think you’ll find,’ I call out as he goes tearing after it.
He leaps athletically off the ground and catches it mid-flight, then sends it wheeling back my way. ‘Or maybe the Latymer in Bagshot,’ he shouts.
‘The Fat Duck!’ I holler, as I send it on its way again.
We keep this up until he draws a blank on his turn, pausing too long before offering up a tentative ‘McDonald’s’.
‘Am I allowed to say that?’ he asks, wincing because he already knows the answer.
‘No way! I think what you’re allowed to say is that this is one–nil to me.’
‘Fair enough.’ He walks back towards me and chucks the frisbee back in the bag, holding his other hand out for me to shake. I notice how warm and strong it feels wrapped around mine and I think we both hold on for slightly longer than we need to.
When he finally lets go, he says, ‘We’d better go and see if we can get on a table tennis table, so I can even things out.’
‘I’m not saying anything,’ I reply smugly. I’ve been playing since I was tall enough to see over the edge of the table. I’m confident of another win. We might not even need the pétanque.
I’m in for a surprise though. It quickly becomes clear Ben is on another level to me. I might have knocked around in the park with friends on and off for most of my life, but he admits afterwards that he played for his borough when he was a teenager. So while I manage to give him a reasonable run for his money, there’s no question of me taking a game off him.
‘I make that one all,’ he says, eyes sparkling as he comes round the table for another handshake.
I give him a playful shove. ‘I can’t believe you let me think I was in with a chance.’
‘You’ll always be in with a chance,’ he says, holding my gaze.
And any residual resolve not to be charmed by him melts away as I feel a sudden urge to kiss him. I know I probably shouldn’t want to– it can only end badly– but being around him just makes me feel so light and happy.
It’s Ben who snaps us out of the moment again. ‘It looks like it’s all down to the pétanque. Good job I’ve got my throwing arm warmed up already.’
I’ve never played before, but I’m not about to admit it. There’s no need to boost his confidence any further. I know I need to get my balls as close as possible to the marker, but if there’s a knack, I’m not aware of it. I just hope the throw-and-pray method is effective.
We toss a coin to decide who’s going to set the marker– and he wins. But he doesn’t toss it too far away, either because he’s being generous or because he wants to make it easier for himself. He invites me to throw first and I misjudge it completely, lobbing my ball about three feet further than I need to.
‘Hard luck,’ he says, before pitching his first ball to within a few inches of the target. He grins at me, clearly impressed with his effort. ‘I think I’m getting hungry. You’re up.’
Determined not to let him win, I try to calculate exactly how much I need to rein in my next throw, but I probably should have just trusted my instincts instead of overthinking it. My ball comes up a good two feet short this time.
‘Ooh, scallops wrapped in pancetta for the starter I reckon,’ Ben says, licking his lips then pulling off another near-perfect throw.
I’m not deterred. For my third and final attempt I take a deep breath, let my shoulder drop and bend my knees so I can use my whole body to direct the ball. And it works! Not only does it land within striking distance of the marker but it rolls right up to it until they’re touching.
‘I take my steak medium rare,’ I fire back at Ben.
He laughs merrily at this. ‘You know I thrive under pressure, right?’
‘Sweet potato wedges, hold the fries,’ I reply.
But he jammily throws his last ball so well it knocks the marker away from my ball and towards his. But is it far enough? We both run over to check.
‘We might have to call it a draw,’ he says, looking down at the final scatter pattern.
I’m about to suggest we play to the best of three when he says, ‘How about we park it there and go and grab something to eat? All that food talk has made me hungry. To be continued?’
I can’t say I need another meal after Dad’s burgers, but I don’t want the afternoon to end yet, so I tell him that suits me. As for the suggestion that we’re going to do this again at some point, I’m secretly delighted, even if there are myriad reasons why I shouldn’t be.
On the way to the car, Ben says he’s got some steak back at his place that he can chuck on the barbecue if I do fancy steak and chips– and if I don’t mind two barbecues in the same day. And my first thought is: Back to his? We all know what that means.
But even though he’s probably used this line a hundred times before, I find I want to go anyway. After all, everyone’s got a history, and it’s not like I haven’t started thinking about getting more intimately acquainted with him myself. So I tell him I’d love to see his house in Redmarsh.
It’s hard not to feel intimidated when we pull into the driveway. When he said he had a place there, what he really meant was on the road lined with mansions that leads from Redmarsh into Surrey. Not that Dad’s house is small, but Ben’s makes it look like a cottage. It must have at least six bedrooms.
I listen to our shoes crunching on the gravel as we approach the front door of the huge white building, half expecting a butler to open it and welcome us. But Ben produces a key.
‘Welcome,’ he says, holding the door open.
There’s a chandelier hanging in the huge white hallway, and a row of trainers lined up along one wall. ‘I never got round to buying a shoe rack,’ he explains.
I follow him into the open-plan lounge and kitchen, which is another sea of white, from the marble worktops to the eight-seater sofa. I don’t know what I expected but it certainly wasn’t this. ‘You like the minimal look then?’
He laughs. ‘The joys of not spending much time in your own home. I haven’t had time to put my stamp on it. I’m at a bit of a loss on where to start, if I’m honest. When I bought it I never really thought about all the extras.’
That’s when I notice the pool in the garden, with loungers on one side, a cluster of pot plants off to one corner and a covered dining area at the other end. I walk over to the bifold doors for a closer look. ‘I think this counts as a pretty good extra.’
He laughs again. ‘That part I did put some thought into. I’ll give you a quick tour of the rest of the house then we can get out there and get the barbecue going.’
A home gym occupies most of the rest of the ground floor. It has every machine you could think of– and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the garden. Upstairs there are just the four bedrooms, rather than six, but four bathrooms too. They’re all decked out in white as well and three look like they’ve never been slept in.
‘It’s a bit over the top,’ Ben says, sounding almost embarrassed. But I don’t think he should apologise for being successful.
‘It’s not ridiculous, it’s just...’ I try to think of the right word to describe it. ‘It’s just so clean.’
‘Exactly the look I was going for. Come on, let’s get back downstairs and enjoy the best bit.’
It’s only when I follow him out on to the terrace that I spot the outdoor table tennis set up at the bottom of the garden. ‘Yeah, sorry about that– I probably should have said,’ he apologises.
‘I’ll get you back,’ I assure him. ‘Maybe next time we’ll do Scrabble, Boggle and Articulate.’
He grins. ‘You’re on.’
With the barbecue warming up and a tray of chips in the oven, we settle on the pool loungers to soak up the early evening sun. The surface of the water glistens in the beams of orange light as we chat about everything that happened before Ben got to the park.
‘It looks so inviting,’ I think aloud.
‘You’re welcome to jump in for a quick dip before dinner.’
‘I haven’t got anything to swim in,’ I point out.
He gestures at the garden perimeter with both hands. ‘No one’s looking. You could just go in in your underwear.’
I’m about to laugh this off, till he adds, ‘I’m up for it, if you are...’
I’m still in a playful mood after our fun in the park, but I hesitate, wondering if this is a challenge too far. It’s one thing getting competitive over a game of frisbee and quite another seeing who’d be quicker at taking half their clothes off.
Part of me thinks it’s too much of a leap when all we’ve done so far is flirt with each other. But there’s something about Ben’s devil-may-care approach to life that makes me want to throw caution to the wind too and not think about the consequences till afterwards.
So I decide to stop worrying about whether it’s a good idea or not. It’s not like there’s a huge difference between underwear and a bikini anyway– and I’m pretty sure I’m wearing knickers with no holes in. I take a deep breath, curl my fingers under the hem of my T-shirt and tell him, ‘What the hell? Let’s do it.’
‘Last one in’s cleaning the dishes,’ he shouts, before I’m even midway through pulling my top up over my head. I wriggle free of it just in time to see him launching himself off the side of the pool and diving in fully clothed. As he surfaces with a grin I can’t help hoping his phone isn’t in his pocket– that’s the kind of idiotic thing I do when I’m trying to impress someone.
‘Are you always so competitive?’ I ask him, laughing.
He puts a finger on his chin and looks to the sky, as if he’s considering it. ‘I believe so, yes. That’s what happens when you grow up with a brother you’re quite close to in age.’
‘Does that mean you’re going to want a swimming race now?’
He watches me step out of my shorts. ‘I think I’m happy enough with today’s wins,’ he says, sounding very much like me in my underwear might be one of them.
I sashay towards him with an exaggerated hip swing, hamming it up to let him think I might want to be his prize. But just when his grin has got so wide it’s taken over half his face, I launch myself into the air, wrap my arms round my knees and cannonball into the water, sending a wave crashing over him.
He’s laughing his head off and wiping the splashes out of his eyes when I come up for air. ‘I hope you know I’ll get you back for that.’
‘Oh yes, and I look forward to it.’
‘You really aren’t like anyone else I’ve met,’ he says, shaking his head and chuckling again.
I’m about to joke that he, on the other hand, is the same as every other super fit athlete I’ve ever found myself semi-naked in a swimming pool with– I don’t know how I always manage it– when he leans towards me and plants a kiss on my lips. But he pulls away just as quickly, apologising and telling me he couldn’t resist.
As I drink in every inch of his beautiful face bobbing in front of me, I can’t say I feel sorry at all. In fact I wish he hadn’t stopped. So it’s music to my ears when he adds, cheekily, ‘Well, you know, sorry not sorry.’
All our goofing around is suddenly forgotten and we can’t take our eyes off each other as the tension sizzles between us. I paddle closer, till our noses are almost touching, and he reaches for my hand beneath the water.
This is it, I’m really doing this,I think as I lace my fingers between his and close the last of the gap between us. And when I press my mouth back against his, I can feel his lips curling up into a smile.
Our tongues touch softly at first, gently exploring. But soon our mouths are crushing together more hungrily, which is quite a challenge while we’re treading water, so we swim towards the shallow end, stopping as soon as we can both put our feet on the bottom.
He draws me towards him and snakes his arms round my waist as he kisses me again. I run my hands over his muscular arms, feel his solid back through his soaking T-shirt then slide my arms up round his neck. A flare of heat rushes through me as our bodies press together despite the cool water on my skin.
When he moves his hands to the tops of my thighs and lifts my legs up, curling them round his waist, it feels like the sexiest move anyone has ever pulled on me. Resting my back against the side of the pool, he trails his fingers along my thighs as our mouths meet again.
By the time his hands have found their way back to my waist, I’m willing them to keep moving upwards, all the way to my breasts. But there’s a sudden screeching sound from inside the house and Ben quickly untangles us. ‘That’s the smoke alarm,’ he explains.
He apologises as he hauls himself effortlessly out of the pool, water cascading off his sodden clothes. ‘Such bad timing, but I don’t want the house to catch fire.’
Which I can hardly argue with, even if I’m gutted that we’ve had to stop kissing.
I watch him jog to the back door, where he pauses to strip his shorts and T-shirt off before disappearing inside, no doubt to stop them dripping all over his parquet floor. It gives me a glorious glimpse of his smooth, toned body and sends my mind off on a little journey about what else we might get up to in the pool when he comes back. My body fizzes at the thought of it.
But when he still hasn’t returned a few minutes later, I climb out– using the steps; I doubt I could push myself up at the side as gracefully as Ben did– to go and find out why.
Ben has a towel wrapped round his waist and is flapping another one at the smoke rising from a charred pile of scraps in the top of his pedal bin.
‘Slight incident with the chips,’ he says, holding the towel out towards me. ‘Sorry, this was meant to be for you.’
‘So I can take over the flapping?’
He shakes his head, laughing. ‘You might have to try not to distract me while the next batch is in.’
I flash him my most seductive smile and take a step towards him. ‘I don’t know if I can guarantee that.’
He reaches for his phone. ‘Hold that thought please. I’m setting an alarm this time.’ Then he draws me back towards him.
We don’t stop kissing till the buzzer rings, initially in the middle of the kitchen then back outside on one of the loungers, the last of the evening sun drying any residual dampness on our skin. Now I’ve stopped trying to tell myself I shouldn’t be doing this, I don’t seem to be able to get enough of him. Whenever his hands brush against my breasts or my buttocks it makes my whole body sing.
It’s so tempting to ignore it when his phone starts bleeping but, not wanting a repeat of earlier, he runs back indoors and emerges with the steaks for the barbecue and a bowl of perfectly golden chips, plus a fleece blanket to throw over us as the temperature drops.
We trade stories about the best steaks we’ve ever eaten while he’s cooking the meat. ‘No pressure then,’ he says, laughing. And when he sets up a speaker so we can have some background music, we discover we like lots of the same bands and chat about which ones we’ve been to see.
After we’ve eaten, we recline side by side on one of the loungers, my head against his chest, both his arms around me.
‘I reckon I could fall asleep out here,’ he says drowsily.
‘Am I boring you?’ I ask, mock offended.
‘Not at all. I’m just really comfortable around you. I think I could get used to it.’
I turn my face up towards his, thinking– but not saying it in case it sounds too cheesy– that it does feel like we fit. Even though we live in different worlds and we’ve known each other for less than a week, right here, at this moment, it feels like it’s meant to be.
But his next words slam the brakes on that line of thinking. ‘I suppose I should start thinking about getting you home in a minute. I don’t want to keep you too long when you’ve got to crack on with your studies.’
I want to insist it’s fine, I can catch up tomorrow, but he’s already shifting his weight beneath me. And it is the smart choice, so I sit up and reach for my shorts and T-shirt, which are still on the floor by the lounger where I discarded them. As much as I don’t want to rush back to my books, I know the longer I stay here, the harder it’s going to be to leave.