Chapter 17 #3
‘Touch me,’ she said, after an excruciating moment that felt like it went on for months.
And then his phone began to ring from across the room.
Jude recognised the loud, obnoxious ringtone as the one he’d assigned to Larry.
What the fuck did he think he was doing, calling at this time?
Yes, it was a reasonable hour in Australia – but the man was no fool.
He must be well aware that, in England, it was currently past midnight.
‘Shit,’ Jude said, his hands paused at Hannah’s waist, still outside her clothing. ‘Shit.’
‘Do you . . . d’you need to get that?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘I one hundred per cent do not.’
But the spell had broken, and the look on Hannah’s face was .
. . difficult to read. She was bright-eyed and flushed, but with embarrassment – perhaps even regret – as well as passion.
Somehow, she’d ended up perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, her legs wrapped around Jude’s waist. He had no idea how things had escalated that far.
Had no memory of lifting her up there, though he almost certainly had.
It dawned on him that he was pressing against her inner thigh, in an intimate fashion that had seemed fine five minutes ago and was suddenly . . . not. Either to claw back some personal dignity or afford Hannah a greater share – perhaps both – he moved far enough away to break the contact.
Hannah pulled her legs together and placed her hands in her lap, almost guiltily. ‘That was . . .’
Incredible?
Amazing?
Exactly what Jude had wanted since the second he saw her this afternoon.
‘. . . not a good idea,’ Hannah finished. ‘For so many reasons.’
‘Ah,’ Jude said, thrusting his hands into his pockets to hide his clenched fists. ‘You’re right, I suppose.’ He congratulated himself on sounding matter-of-fact, at the same time as wondering whether he’d managed to keep the crashing disappointment he was feeling off his face.
‘We can’t . . .’ Hannah faltered. She sighed and hopped down from the counter to stand and face him, arms folded.
It was like she thought talking to him from up there was too informal.
Not serious enough. ‘We can’t do this’ – she threw her hands up in a way that he gleaned was supposed to denote kissing – ‘when nothing’s fixed.
When things between us are not OK. And we said we wouldn’t dredge it all up because – I somehow forgot this for a second – our brothers are getting married.
And then you’re going back to Australia after the wedding, and I live here, so it’s pointless . . . And we just . . . can’t. Right?’
Her argument, though garbled, had sounded pretty compelling until she uttered that final word.
‘Are you telling me or asking me?’ Jude said.
She swallowed. ‘I’m . . . telling you?’
‘Even that sounded like a question, Hannah.’
‘Well, I didn’t mean it to!’ she snapped. ‘We have to be sensible, here! There might still be . . . something between us. But it’s messy. Worse than messy. And I have a wedding to organise.’
‘I know.’
‘And for the record, I still haven’t forgiven you.’
‘I haven’t asked you to,’ he said.
‘Which is something of a problem, don’t you think?’ She actually scowled at him then, and – irritated though he was – he found he had to concentrate on not finding it cute.
‘Arguably, yes,’ he said. ‘But I haven’t forgiven you, either, and you haven’t asked. So I’d say that makes us even.’
‘What?’ Hannah scoffed. ‘You haven’t forgiven me? You’re the one who left!’
‘I left the country, yes,’ Jude said carefully. ‘But you walked out of the airport instead of getting on our prebooked flight. You ran out on me after I begged you not to – in front of witnesses, I might add. And you didn’t come back. That’s leaving, too, isn’t it?’
Her mouth dropped open, as if this was news to her. Like she’d entirely forgotten this part of their story, or hadn’t considered it from this angle before.
‘I . . . We . . .’ It took Hannah a few seconds to gather herself, but – true to form – she managed it. ‘We should go to bed,’ she said firmly. ‘Forget this conversation, and everything that led up to it, ever happened.’
‘Hannah, I know you want to put all this aside, but it won’t work,’ Jude said, as she strode out of the kitchen and back towards the guest room.
‘What?’ she asked, looking back at him in annoyance. ‘Why?’
‘From a statistical point of view, it’s just very unlikely,’ he said, not entirely sure why he’d entered mathematician mode but certain his rationale was solid. ‘Past performance is generally considered the best predictor of future results in any test where the variables remain broadly the same.’
‘And now in English?’ Hannah demanded from the bedroom doorway, a withering expression on her lovely face.
‘We’ve already been trying to forget each other for four years – and from opposite ends of the planet,’ Jude said. ‘Based on tonight, I’d say it’s fair to conclude we’ve failed pretty dismally. Put simply: in my opinion, we’d be idiots to think now might be the moment we finally manage it.’