Chapter Twenty-One
Of all the times the front door to Georgia’s building could have chosen to stick, this was not the one. Georgia fiddled with the keys in the lock, willing it to turn. She could feel Erin watching her, engine idling, waiting until she got in safely before driving away.
“Come on,” Georgia told the door, holding the handle and leaning back, hoping the lock would slide into place. “Come on, you bastard.”
Behind her, the car door opened and closed.
Shit.
Georgia pulled at the handle again and wiggled her key back and forth in the lock. It still didn’t move. Georgia pressed the buzzer to her flat desperately. Maybe Rachel would appear, magically saving her from the embarrassment.
“You alright?” Erin called, pushing open the iron gate at the edge of Georgia’s small front garden.
Georgia half turned around. “Bloody door’s sticky. Does it all the time.”
She pressed the buzzer again.
Erin came up the path, the heels of her Chelsea boots clicking on the old outdoor black and white diamond tiles.
She was using her phone as a torch, picking her way past Georgia’s downstairs neighbour’s plant pots and past the bike chained to the railings.
She stepped up onto the front step, right behind Georgia.
She was close enough that Georgia could smell the subtle hint of her perfume and the warm press of her against her back.
“Let me have a look,” Erin said, leaning around Georgia, trapping her between her arm and the wall.
“Be my guest,” Georgia said. “Knowing my luck, it’ll open first time for you.”
Erin reached around her, one hand on the lock, one hand on the keys, and twisted. The door opened with a groan and a dramatic sigh, swinging into the dark shared hallway.
“Rude,” Georgia muttered.
Erin stepped sideways, leaned against the porch wall. “She just needed the right touch, apparently.”
“Well then.” Georgia was halfway between amused and flustered, embarrassed by the door and acutely aware of Erin’s presence in the small porch. “Thanks for rescuing me, again.”
“Any time.” Erin’s voice was low, her smile a fraction too slow to be entirely casual.
For a second, neither of them moved. The orange glow of the streetlamp across the road, casting long shadows across the road, the railings, the white walls of the terrace. The faint sounds of a party drifted from one of the neighbouring flats. Her keys were still in the lock.
Erin shifted closer, her hand lifting to trace the line of Georgia’s collar, fingers barely brushing skin. “You always talk a lot when you’re nervous?”
Georgia blinked. “I’m not-” She stopped. “Okay. A little.”
“Cute,” Erin murmured.
And then she leaned in.
She didn’t go for Georgia’s mouth straight away. She tilted her head, slow and deliberate, close enough that Georgia could feel her breath on her cheek. The hand at her collar tugged, once. Asking, not pushing.
Georgia didn’t let herself overthink it. She grabbed the open halves of Erin’s jacket and pulled her in. No spiralling. No second guessing. Just instinct, and the confident press of Erin’s lips against her own.
Erin tipped her head, angling up to meet Georgia’s desperation with her own. Georgia gasped into her mouth, overwhelmed. Her heart thundered in her throat. She didn’t know if she was falling apart or floating.
The door creaked behind them.
“Um –”
Georgia jerked back.
Rachel stood in the doorway in her pyjamas, hair unbrushed, frozen. Eyes wide. “Oh my god.”
Erin pulled back, slow and unbothered.
Georgia’s breath sawed in and out of her chest. Her fingers tightened reflexively in Erin’s jacket, then let her go as she stepped back, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. Georgia could feel the ghost of her lips, the heat of her touch.
God, what a mess.
Erin had kissed her, she had kissed Erin.
An hour ago, she was almost sobbing in a car park over Matt’s thoughtless bragging. Like the whole thing hadn’t meant anything to him. Like she had never meant anything.
And now: she was kissing Erin.
“Shit,” she said.
Rachel blinked.
“I know what it looked like, but, Matt, he…” Georgia hissed, already fumbling for her keys. “I just… Jesus. I need a minute.”
She turned and bolted past Rachel into the corridor, down past the peeling anaglypta wallpaper and the stacked bikes, up the stairs, and into the flat. She was a mess of guilt and adrenaline. She shouldn’t have done that, and yet it was taking all her strength to keep moving forward.
Emotionally avoidant, Tam had labelled her. Right now, it felt painfully accurate.
That kiss. Georgia pressed the back of her shaking hand to her mouth. It had been sure. Careful, despite its neediness. It felt like whiplash. And now Georgia had bolted, and she didn’t even know what she was running from.
“So,” Rachel said behind her, as she turned the last corner of the stairs. “I guess you’re Erin.”