Float My Boat

14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

I was practically shaking by the time I arrived at Andrew’s apartment building, not far from the hair salon and café in Portico. His was one of five or six units in a small, tastefully constructed block, so although modern, it blended in among the older buildings all around.

I’d offered to bring dinner, but he’d told me not to, saying he had stuff he wanted to use up, so all I’d brought was a bottle of homemade kombucha we served in the café and my laptop, and it didn’t feel like nearly enough.

I took a deep breath as I stood by the swanky glass door to the building, then pushed the button to his apartment. He buzzed me in almost instantly, saying, ‘Hey, top floor.’

I took the stairs, hoping the climb to the third floor would calm my nerves, but it didn’t. All it did was make me a little breathless on top.

I didn’t even have time to compose myself because Andrew swung the door open as I approached, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that hugged his very large muscles in all the right ways. ‘Hi,’ he said, flashing me a smile that said I’d been well and truly caught checking him out.

‘Uh … hey,’ I replied, my mouth dry as I held out the kombucha. He looked like a cozy Sunday morning, and I wanted to wrap myself in him.

‘Thanks, I love this stuff.’

‘I know.’

He went still for a beat, then stood back to let me in. ‘Make yourself at home. I’m just finishing up in the kitchen. Do you want a drink? Some kombucha?’

‘Sure, thanks,’ I said absently, my eyes already busy roaming around the space.

The entrance led into a large, open plan kitchen-dining-living room, which was filled with light from the enormous windows. It was spacious but homely, with an oat-colored deep-pile rug that begged to be walked on in bare feet, shelves lined with well-worn books, and contemporary artwork in warm, muted colors.

‘Here you go,’ said Andrew, handing me a tumbler, then he returned to the light granite counter tops and grey-blue units of his kitchen.

‘Thanks. Do you live here alone?’

He looked up from chopping lettuce. ‘I do now. I used to have a flat mate, but then things picked up at work and I didn’t need the rent, and I like having my own space.’

‘Me too. Can I look around?’ I asked sheepishly, pointing at the doors I assumed led to the bedrooms. One was slightly ajar, the walls a soft blue, with plush, cream carpet.

‘Of course. Spare room’s the far one, mine’s the closest.’ He smiled knowingly as I disappeared into the spare bedroom, glad for the moment alone to collect myself. This was perfectly normal. I was looking around a friend’s apartment, just like I would with anyone. Nothing out of the ordinary here at all.

The bedroom was neat and tidy, with green walls and wooden furniture I recognized as Noah’s work, including a wardrobe, chest of drawers, and bedside tables with tall lamps on either side of the king-sized bed.

There wasn’t much else to see, so I moved to Andrew’s room, briefly meeting his penetrating gaze before I ducked inside. His expression made my lungs feel half their normal size, and as I pulled in a deep breath, the smell of him engulfed me. It was all I could do to keep myself from racing to his pillow and burying my nose in it or rolling around in his sheets like an errant dog, trying to cover myself in his scent. A tight sensation spread out across my chest as I scanned the enormous bed, thoughts of Andrew lying naked under the sheets flashing unbidden across my mind.

I forced myself to focus on my surroundings, on the beautifully crafted wooden furniture, the tasteful ensuite bathroom off to the right, and a wall of wardrobes with sliding mirrored doors. But then Andrew appeared in the mirror behind me, and our eyes met in the glass. Beats of silence stretched out between us. ‘Dinner’s ready,’ he said eventually, his voice husky, and by the time I turned around, he’d retreated to the living room.

I followed, needing to stay close to him, and I wondered if Belle was right. Maybe I was at peak fertility because my lips felt unusually sensitive as I ran my tongue across them.

‘Help yourself,’ said Andrew, pointing to the table in front of the kitchen island, or more accurately, to an enormous bowl of lettuce topped with seared lamb steaks, artichoke hearts, palm hearts, pickled beetroot, avocado, cherry tomatoes, olives, and a sprinkling of toasted seeds and nuts.

‘Oh my God, Andrew. That looks and smells divine.’

He added a stick of French bread and a square of salted butter as I helped myself to the salad, my mouth watering in anticipation. Andrew sat beside me at the head of the table and loaded his own plate. It put us close, but was less intense than staring at each other from opposite sides.

‘Any more thoughts about the salon?’ he asked, topping up my kombucha.

I chewed and swallowed. ‘No. This is delicious by the way.’

He smiled as he ripped off a chunk of bread and offered it to me. ‘Glad you like it.’

‘But I’m not convinced these ingredients needed to be used up,’ I said, accepting the bread. The salad was crisp and fresh, the tomatoes firm, and the other stuff had come from tins or jars.

‘I may have told a tiny white lie. But I hate how everyone expects you to bring food all the time, and I’m perfectly capable of cooking.’

‘And when you say things like that, I wonder how anyone could ever think you scary.’

He smirked. ‘Who are these people?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t reveal my sources. Although, scary probably isn’t the actual word they’d use.’

‘No?’

I shook my head.

‘Then what?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘Intimidating?’

He huffed out a half laugh, then said in a low voice, ‘And what word would you use?’

The breath hitched in my throat as I met his gaze, his eyes so intense it sent a shiver down my spine. ‘I think you’re many things.’

‘Such as?’

‘You’ve always been kind to me.’

Heat burned hot in his eyes, which flicked briefly to my lips, then he said slowly, ‘That’s because I like you.’

Oh, holy mother of God . ‘Well, that’s lucky because I like you, too,’ I said, looking up at him from under my lashes. ‘It would be hard to be friends otherwise.’

He flinched, then looked away, and I instantly regretted my words. Why had I done that? Why had I said that?

Andrew stood, whatever had been building between us lying shattered all around. I wanted to take back the word friends . Or add something. I searched for anything to say, but before I succeeded, Andrew picked up my laptop and opened the lid.

‘Show me,’ he said, holding it out so I could unlock it with my fingerprint. I hesitated, trying to convey with my eyes that I was an idiot, that I didn’t mean it, but he refused to look at me, his eyes on the screen. I unlocked the laptop and my spreadsheet appeared. He sat, first making a copy, then scanning the columns and rows, getting to know the lay of the land.

I decided watching over his shoulder was awkward for both of us, so I picked up my plate and carried it to the other end of the room, looking around as I finished my food. He didn’t have much in the way of personal items, but there were a couple of photos of him and his parents, and one of him and his sisters. They looked so happy together, and I wished for the millionth time that I had a sibling.

I scanned his bookshelf, which were mostly filled with autobiographies and cookbooks with some very intimidating data science texts thrown in for good measure. I selected a book on barbeque, which had tabs sticking out of the side, discarded my now empty plate on the coffee table, and lay face down on the fabric sofa while I flicked through the pages, intrigued to see which recipes he’d picked out.

It was a history of barbeque, but with technical explanations on the different setups and cooking methods and with recipes, too. The tabs were numerous, and I wondered which things he’d already tried and which he planned to test out next.

I shifted, and Andrew’s gaze flicked up at the movement. We locked eyes for a beat, but then he went back to his work, neither of us saying a thing, and my heart squeezed.

I exhaled a long breath, then pushed to my feet. ‘Tea?’

‘Please,’ he said, but didn’t offer anything further, seemingly consumed by his work.

I rummaged for cups and teabags, then watched as Andrew’s fingers flew over the keyboard, using functions I didn’t even know existed, shortcutting some of my steps. My chest lurched with a weird primal pride, like my body was telling me to mate with him so we could pass his superior spreadsheeting genes to our children. Or perhaps I’d been spending too much time with Belle … either way, I had to fix this. I had to take control of my life.

I placed Andrew’s tea on the table, then slipped into the chair beside him.

‘Thanks,’ he said absently, but he didn’t look up.

‘You’re welcome.’ I rested my elbow on the table, then leaned my chin on my palm, watching his every move like a creep. He was so sexy when he was concentrating.

He stilled, then slowly lifted his head, his eyes big and black as we appraised each other for a beat.

‘Miri …’

‘Yes?’

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘Like what?’ I breathed, my heart stuttering as I silently prayed to every god that he wouldn’t reject me again.

‘Like … that.’ His leg found mine under the table, and I dropped my hand onto his thigh, gently squeezing the muscle just above his knee.

His mouth fell open, and the air turned heavy, but then my phone buzzed, and I had to fight a groan as I pulled it out to see an incoming call from Paul. ‘It’s the property agent,’ I said, getting to my feet as I picked up. ‘Hi, Paul.’

‘Hi, Miri. I’m afraid I have bad news.’

‘The salon’s gone?’ There was no other bad news he could be calling about.

‘We’ve had a few viewings, and someone put in an offer earlier today. It’s off the market.’

I inhaled deeply then held my breath. ‘Okay. Thanks for letting me know.’

‘Don’t you worry, I’ll keep searching for the perfect place.’

‘Thanks, Paul.’ I hung up and looked over at Andrew. ‘That makes the financial projections less urgent.’

‘Are you disappointed?’ he asked, picking up his tea.

I concentrated for a moment on my emotions, trying to determine how I felt. ‘Yes and no. It would have been okay, probably, but I wasn’t totally comfortable with the financial risks.’

‘Your spreadsheet looks good to me. I short-cut a few steps and run another couple of scenarios, but I think you can be confident with the projections you have. I mean, I’m no expert in hospitality, but your cashflows from the bar and café are awesome.’

‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t be so nervous.’

Andrew shrugged. ‘It says something that you’re not devastated about losing the salon.’

‘It never grabbed me, you know? But maybe nothing ever will.’ Silence fell as he watched me, and I suddenly worried that maybe I was outstaying my welcome. We’d eaten, he’d looked at the spreadsheet, and there was no other reason for me to hang around. ‘I should probably get going. I don’t want to steal any more of your evening.’

His eyes widened a little, almost as though he was disappointed. ‘Because I have something better to do than hang out with you?’ Another beat of silence stretched between us, this one heavy, full of possibility.

‘You could have a hot date for all I know,’ I said, my tone low and flirtatious, but as he shut my laptop and got to his feet, I seemed to have said the wrong thing yet again.

‘You’re more likely to have one of those than me.’

‘Andrew …’

He rested his hands on the island, his face angled away, but then he turned back, seeming resolved. ‘Stay and watch a film.’

I faltered.

‘I have popcorn …’

‘I don’t like popcorn.’ But I also didn’t like the idea of leaving.

‘Chocolate, then.’

‘Hmmm. Do I get to pick? Because if your plan is to make me sit through some gory action film …’

The corner of his mouth twitched up. ‘You can pick, but no rom coms.’

I scowled. ‘You know plenty of men enjoy rom coms? It’s just that society says you’re not allowed to, so you tell yourself they’re offensive.’

‘You’ve been spending too much time with Belle.’

‘Or maybe you haven’t been spending enough time with her.’

‘You want to watch a rom com?’ he said in a way that suggested he might relent, and my insides melted.

‘I want to watch a classic. Maybe—’

‘Avatar?’

‘That’s not a classic.’

He scoffed, but didn’t dwell. ‘Equilibrium?’

‘That is a classic, but …’ I thought for a moment, and then it came to me. ‘Good Will Hunting.’

‘Yes!’ said Andrew. He pulled an expensive-looking box of chocolates out of a cupboard. ‘You’re right, that is a classic.’

I put the barbeque book back on the shelf, then sat on the end of the sofa farthest from the kitchen. It was a big three-seater, and when Andrew took the other end, there was clear space between us, which I was both happy and sad about. Although, he filled the space with the chocolates, which wasn’t a bad consolation prize.

Andrew found a streaming service with the film, clicked play, then eased back, getting comfortable, spreading his legs a little, and I swallowed hard, then busied myself with pulling my legs up under me and taking a sip of tea.

‘Chocolate?’ said Andrew, holding up the box. They were the kind you bought from a counter where you selected each individual one, and I studied them, only half listening to the film’s opening scene on the big flatscreen as I carefully made my selection.

‘Did you buy these?’

‘A present from my sister; Claire made them.’

‘Oh, right, the woman from your work party?’

‘Yeah. She’s totally brilliant.’

I tried to suppress the irrational pang of jealousy that stabbed through me at him complimenting another woman. ‘They look delicious.’ I finally picked, and when I bit into it, found it was ginger coated in dark chocolate. ‘Mmmmm, oh my God. That is delicious.’

Andrew’s eyes were on me when I glanced up at him, his shoulders tense, lips slightly parted.

‘Try one!’ I demanded, then leaned forward and batted away his fingers so I could choose another one first. He pulled the whole box out from under my hand, and I whined like a brat. ‘Andrew!’

‘If they’re good enough for you to have an orgasm over, I’m rationing them.’

‘Why should orgasms be rationed?’ I asked, stretching out and poking his thigh with my toe.

He covered my foot with his free hand, then dropped the chocolates next to my leg, selecting one at random and popping it in his mouth.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that is amazing.’

I snatched them up before he could take them again and shuffled down and leaned my head against the arm of the sofa. Andrew put a cushion across his lap, then lifted the foot in his hand and placed it on top. He patted the embroidered fabric, and I rested my other foot beside the first, my chest lurching at the intimacy.

I selected another chocolate, then put the box down. It was probably rude to eat the whole lot, especially seeing as they’d been a gift from his sister. I tried to concentrate on the screen and not the feel of Andrew’s thumb sliding along my arch, but the pressure was just right, hard enough to feel it everywhere , and every time he stroked, I had to stifle a hum of pleasure.

Eventually, I gave up any pretense of watching the film and tipped my head back, closing my eyes as he massaged with both hands. ‘Where did you learn to do that?’ I asked on an exhale.

‘Does someone have to learn?’

I half opened my eyes. ‘To do it like that you do.’

He pressed into my arch with his knuckle, and an involuntary moan escaped my lips, my back arching a little. ‘Do that again,’ I begged, and he repeated the movement. I moaned again, and he shifted, my eyes flying open, worried he was about to get up. ‘Don’t stop!’

‘I’m not,’ he said in a choked voice. ‘I’m just … getting more comfortable.’

He slid his thumb up the center of my sole, our eyes still locked, and desire trickled to my core. ‘Oh my God, Andrew,’ I said, biting my lip. He pulled each of my toes in turn, and I nearly combusted, my nipples so hard he could probably see them through my clothes.

I wanted to feel his fingers higher, to feel them all over me, and I had to resist the temptation to crawl forward and straddle him. But then I wondered why I had to. He was single, I was single, and we couldn’t keep going round in these agonizing circles forever. I looked at him with hooded eyes, doing nothing to hide my lust, and he looked back, his features dark and full of promise.

And then he shifted, casting the cushion aside and prowling over me, up on his knees, looking down at me from above. He paused for a torturous heartbeat, then took my face in both hands, sliding his thumbs across my cheek bones. I savored the feel of his skin on mine, the anticipation, and then he tugged me upwards and covered my mouth with his, kissing me like a man starved.

My hands slid to his back, grasping onto him, needing purchase, seeing as I wasn’t quite sure which way was up. He sucked on my lower lip, and I gasped, sliding my hand into his hair and grabbing hold, arching my back as he did it again.

He groaned, then moved one hand from my face, tracing his thumb down the column of my neck, over my collarbone, then farther south, pulling open the v-neck collar of my tee and pressing into the dip between each rib until he reached the swell of flesh at the top of my breast. He pulled his mouth from mine, then followed the same journey with his lips, kissing his way down my throat, gently sucking my pulse point, licking the hollow above my collarbone.

‘Andrew,’ I moaned, my hands on his muscular neck as I thrust my breasts up towards him, urging his lips lower.

He cupped my breast through my clothes, swiping his thumb back and forth across my rock-hard nipple, then nuzzled the naked flesh at the top, nipping and sucking and making me writhe against him. He rested his forehead against mine, breathing heavily as he cradled me like I was the most precious thing in the world. ‘It’s not enough,’ he murmured. ‘I need so much more.’

‘Me too,’ I moaned, burying my nose in his neck and inhaling deeply. ‘You smell … fuck .’ I closed my lips over his neck and sucked and licked and bit, savoring him, but forced myself to pull away before I left a mark. He drew my lips back to his, and then my back hit the sofa, and his weight settled on top of me, and I surrendered entirely as he explored me, his hands stroking my hair and cheeks and neck while the thick ridge of his arousal pressed between my thighs.

We made out like teenagers, kissing and kissing as though there was nothing else in the world to do, and anytime we pulled apart, we came almost immediately back together, some fundamental law of attraction demanding it to be so.

I vaguely noticed that the film had ended, and that it was dark outside, but I would have happily kissed him all night, making up for all the time we should have been doing exactly that. But my phone rang, the tone telling me it was the bar, and my stomach dipped because no one ever called me to tell me anything good.

‘Hey?’ I said, answering the call while still on my back, Andrew propped up on his elbow beside me, his free hand stroking my stomach.

‘I’m so sorry to disturb you,’ said Julia, my French bartender, ‘but Ange’s mum just called. They have an emergency and Ange had to go. I could close up alone, but …’

‘No. No one closes alone,’ I said adamantly, even though no part of me wanted to leave Andrew. ‘I’ll be there in ten.’

‘Okay, thanks Miri. Sorry to ruin your evening.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said, then hung up.

Andrew kissed me the second the call was over, but pulled away all too quickly, standing and helping me to my feet. ‘Do you need a lift?’ he asked. If he was disappointed the evening had been cut short, he hid it well.

‘No, it’s fine. I drove.’

‘I’ll walk you down.’

I gathered my things and slid on my shoes, then met Andrew by the door. ‘You really don’t have to,’ I said as he followed me out. ‘I’m parked just along the street.’

He gave me a look that said not to argue, then locked his door behind us. ‘If you get mugged outside my building, I’ll never live it down.’

I snorted. ‘I’m glad to know it’s a selfless act.’

‘Purely protecting my own interests,’ he agreed, a step behind me on the stairs.

I pushed through the glass door onto the street, and the cool night air raised gooseflesh on my bare arms. I turned right, my van fifty meters down, and rummaged in my bag for the keys as we walked.

‘Thanks for dinner,’ I said, still rummaging, ‘and for checking over my spreadsheet.’ I found my keys just as we reached the van. ‘And for the chocolates, and … the foot rub.’

He stepped into my space, so close I had to tilt my head to meet his eyes, my pulse spiking as he slid a large, strong hand into my hair, cupping my nape. And then he lowered his lips and gently brushed them against mine.

My lips tingled as fresh desire coursed through me. ‘More,’ I breathed. I should have been embarrassed by the desperate plea laced into the word, but I felt nothing but pure, carnal need, so I didn’t care.

He did as I asked, and we deepened the kiss, but then he pulled away, running his thumb across my bottom lip as he gave me a tender smile. ‘See you tomorrow, M. Drive safe.’

Part of me wanted to stamp my foot, to demand he kiss me again, but I had to get back to the bar, and I didn’t trust myself not to ruin everything by saying something stupid. So I got in my van and drove away.

It was a wonder I didn’t crash as I headed home. The expression love drunk was a thing, but what about lust drunk ? If it existed, I was definitely that, my brain showing me flashbacks when it should have been focusing on the road.

I sailed through closing the bar like I was in a dream, repeatedly finding myself paused mid-task wondering what it was I was supposed to be doing, and then the image of Andrew’s green eyes and full lips would fill my mind once more, and I’d forget all over again.

I had no idea what was going on between us now, but the kissing hadn’t felt fake. It had felt like Andrew had wanted it at least as much as I did. And I wanted it a lot. More than anything else I could think of. I considered driving back to his after we finished closing, but that would look desperate, wouldn’t it? Then again, if we were truly dating, that might be a thing I would do. Holy shit , was this real now? The thought was stunning, impossible, but it had been real kissing, I was sure of it, so did that mean we were actually dating? If only my brain would think straight …

‘Are you okay?’ asked Julia, my server, eyeing me suspiciously.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ I said. ‘Just a bit distracted.’

‘Good distracted, or bad distracted?’ she asked in her thick French accent.

I smiled, and she cocked an eyebrow.

‘It’s the tall one, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I said, walking ahead of her to the door.

‘Mmm-hmm. Enjoy that feeling. It’s something you cannot buy.’