Chapter 15
Theodore
Dafne opens the door abruptly as I’m pacing just before her–or her roommate’s, I assume–Broadway-themed doormat and … bollocks. This has to be a joke.
She’s wearing a 1968 UK Tour’s Fleetwood Mac shirt. And … little else.
Her deep walnut hair is up, and she is clutching what looks like a plastic Academy Award in her raised hand.
“Oh my God, ” she starts, lowering her arm, her shoulders slumping. “You scared the hell out of me!” Her big brown eyes wide in distress.
“I’m, uh…” I try, but it comes out hoarse, and she raises an eyebrow, surely unimpressed with my poor use of proper syntax.
“You’re sorry?” she offers, throwing the fake award on the bed beside her without looking whether it actually lands there. I nod, my mouth parts, and I must look like a dignified fish. Enough, Theo.
“Price,” she says, having calmed down just enough, “if you’re here because of what I said earlier–” she doesn’t finish, because I’ve said to hell with second-guessing. I step into her space and kiss her full on the mouth.
It is bloody glorious.
Dafne
Theodore Price’s tongue is stroking mine. Good Lord above –he’s never kissed me like this before. Why hasn’t he done this before? Why am I liking it so much? There are too many questions and apparently not enough oxygen is reaching my brain for me to focus, so I’m going to leave those for later. All I know in this moment is this kiss feels absolutely incredible and I never want it to end. I let out a soft moan as his lips press against mine again, and that seems to drive him harder against me. I’m not quite sure what my hands are doing but I desperately want him closer. More. I can taste the faintest hint of the cinnamon chocolate he had earlier, and it’s just as delicious as I thought. An unclear amount of time passes, and we detach with a soft pop that does nothing to placate the heat pooling in my belly.
“You should probably get dressed,” he breathes after a quiet moment, his lips hovering a scarce inch from my nose.
“Are you wasted?” I ask, barely audible, because I can’t find another reason for him to be doing what he just did if that’s not the case. His eyebrows rise so quickly they look like small boomerangs.
“No. No, I’m definitely not wasted. Are you?”
I shake my head vehemently, stray drops of water trickling down my nape.
“Good,” he adds, rooted in place, the hands that were cradling my face barely a minute ago now resting on my arms. Some part of my brain is aware of being nearly naked standing inches from Theodore in a hallway where anyone could see us. The other part of my brain is unsuccessfully trying to figure out whether I’m dreaming. Or dead.
Come on, Dafne. Say something smart.
“This doesn’t mean anything, right?”
“I thought you wanted me to let go,” he murmurs. “That was me letting go.”
I’m about to point out he didn’t answer the question, when I’m reached by a familiar humming from the stairs.
“It’s my roommate,” I push him lightly and he stumbles, caught off guard, but catches himself just in time. “Act natural.” I beg him, reaching for the still damp coat I’d hung on the hook closest to the door and hastily putting it on. Why didn’t I wear this before opening the door in the first place?
I stand by what I said–impulsive fool. I force my mouth to curve in a smile as Phoebe hops up the last step only a few feet from us. A teal paper bag is dangling from her left wrist, one I immediately recognise as belonging to our favorite tea shop. Her happy humming abruptly breaks off as she takes us in, her free hand rising to remove one earbud from her ear.
“I didn’t know we were expecting a guest , Daf, ” she chirps, sheer intrigue so thick in her voice I just might pretend to faint to spare me whatever she’ll say next.
“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” she adds to Theodore as she reaches us. She cuts me a look then, only to notice my hair is wet, I’m barefoot, and wearing a coat.
A lunatic, basically.
He glances at me, then holds out his hand for her to shake. She takes it, her mouth twitching.
“I’m Theodore, I am Dafne’s–”
“Theodore plays Romeo, Phoebs,” I interject before he can say something we both might potentially regret.
Phoebe smiles widely as she removes her hand from Theodore’s grasp and nods knowingly.
“Mr. Hackle asked me to tell Dafne about a … change, in a scene,” he explains then, and my eyes flutter closed in silent exasperation. He has no idea who he’s talking to, and it shows. Phoebe’s bullshite meter must be singing We Are the Champions right now.
“ Right .” She nods once, her lips curving inward to repress the laugh I know is rising like a tidal surge within her. I won’t live any part of the past three minutes down until I drop dead.
“Well, thank you, Price,” I say, snatching Phoebe’s arm and pulling her over the threshold. “I’ll see you around.” He opens his mouth, but I slam the door in his face.
I start peeling my coat off as slowly as possible–knowing damn well I am buying myself mere seconds. When I turn around, Phoebe’s arms are crossed over her chest and she’s looking at me like she’s bloody Poirot and I’m the murderer in the interrogation room.
“You are so full of shite!” she yells, and I step forward to slap a hand on her mouth.
“Be louder, do you mind?” I hiss before releasing her.
“I knew it–I knew there was something going on,” she resumes, her blond curls swinging wildly along with her head. “Were you going to tell your best girlfriend, or did you expect me to find out in five years from some gossip magazine?”
I cringe, and if only to stop myself from fidgeting–or having a breakdown, who knows these days–I plop onto the edge of the bed and untie my still-damp hair.
“It wasn’t … whatever you think you saw–” I start, and Phoebe braces herself on my knees.
“Dafne Wright. Look me in the eyes and tell me you weren’t making out with Theodore Price on top of my embroidered doormat. Go on,” she smiles sweetly, “lie to my face.”
I groan and bury my face in my hands .
“I need to be wearing more clothes for this conversation. I will also require the strongest tea you have,” I mumble through the gaps between my fingers. Phoebe makes a satisfied noise and pats my right knee.
“One steaming cuppa tea coming right up.”