Chapter Twenty-Five #2
Georgia raised an eyebrow. “That looks fancy.”
Erin shrugged one shoulder, pushing the glass across the countertop towards her. “My cousin Tom has a vineyard, down in the depths of Devon. He sends me a few cases of the good stuff occasionally, usually when he’s had an argument with my father and remembers what an arsehole he is.”
Georgia took a sip. It was crisp, sharp, a little hint of citrus. “The good stuff, hey?”
“I bring it out for special occasions,” Erin said. “Or when I’m trying to impress someone.”
“And which scenario is this?”
Erin gave her a small, wry smile. “Maybe both.”
“Well.” Georgia took another sip. “Fancy wine, handmade pasta. I’d say you’re off to a good start.”
“Let’s hope the pasta lives up to the wine, then.”
Erin plated the pasta with practised movements, then carried the bowls from the kitchen to the dining table. Georgia trailed after her, their wines in hand.
It was easy, natural, the conversation flowing. Books, movies. The girls’ team. The state of Erin’s back garden. The grey hairs Georgia was certain had started sprouting from her temples.
The pasta did live up to the wine.
It was spicy, bright with tomato and chilli, and just the right side of messy. Georgia had to tuck her napkin into the neckline of her T-shirt halfway through. Erin choked back a laugh, but the smirk gave her away.
“You’re enjoying this,” Georgia accused, spearing a rogue piece of chorizo like it had personally offended her.
“I am,” Erin said. “I’ve seen you scarf pot noodles in the back of a minibus. Nice to see some things never change.”
Georgia laughed, fork halfway to her mouth. “This is definitely better than pot noodles.”
Erin was watching her steadily, intensely, her dark brown eyes locked on Georgia’s face. “You’ve got…” she murmured, reaching across the table. Her thumb brushed the corner of Georgia’s mouth. “Sauce.”
Georgia didn’t move.
Erin’s perfume wafted towards her. It was expensive, slightly masculine. Cedarwood and something musky, a hint of citrus that made Georgia shiver.
Erin’s hand hovered a moment longer. Then dropped.
Georgia cleared her throat. “Right. Dessert?”
Erin grinned. “Only if you’re brave enough to risk my freezer section.”
She stood from the table, clearing their plates into the dishwasher. Georgia followed her, heart thudding a little too hard in her chest.
Pasta. Wine. Dessert from the freezer.
She could try to ignore where this evening was headed.
Pretend it was just two old teammates catching up.
A tentative friendship after years of misunderstanding.
But she’d only be lying to herself. She couldn’t ignore the memory of Erin’s lips against her own, the weight of her pressing Georgia into the doorframe.
The freezer yielded two sad-looking, icy tubs of ice cream and a bag of frozen mango chunks. They sat with their bowls cross-legged on the sofa, the TV playing a terrible ghost hunter programme neither of them were really watching.
Georgia kept up her end of the conversation, laughed in the right places, but her mind was almost entirely focused on the brush of Erin’s knee against her own.
At Tam’s wedding, she’d seemed all hard edges and painful corners. Spiky. Even with the Redford girls - who clearly adored her - Erin was still controlled, still held herself apart.
Here, in the space that she’d made for herself, she was softer, blurrier.
“So,” Erin started. “We should talk about…”
“About the kiss,” Georgia finished for her. “Yes. That would be the mature and sensible thing to do.”
Erin gave her a half-smile, wolfish yet soft in the middle. “And yet, you look like you’re about to fling yourself out of the window.”
Georgia dragged her hand though her hair. “I’m not great at this bit.”
“The part where I kissed you?” Erin leant forward, dropped her voice even lower. “Or the part where you liked it?”
Georgia groaned, pressing the heel of her hand into her forehead. “You’re enjoying this.”
Erin’s grin spread. “A little.”
“Don’t tease me,” Georgia mumbled, still avoiding eye contact. “Not when I’m emotionally compromised.”
Erin shrugged and took a sip of her wine. “It’s my only defence.”
Georgia set her glass down on the old wooden chest that served as Erin’s coffee table. She tucked her foot up under her and shifted, fully facing Erin. She reached out, and trailed her fingers lightly across Erin’s denim-clad knee.
“I’m not trying to mess you around,” she said. “I didn’t kiss you back to prove a point, or because I was confused, or to get back at Matt. I kissed you because I’ve wanted to since I was sixteen.”
Georgia kept her gaze focused on the material under her fingers, the lines of lighter threads weaving their way through the blue. “I was scared then, and I’m still scared now. It’s entirely possible I’ll fuck it up again. I seem to be good at that.”
Erin didn’t say anything for a second, also watching the motion of Georgia’s fingers against her leg. Then she reached out and caught Georgia’s hand in her own.
“You’re not the only one who’s scared,” she said. “But I’m here. And I won’t walk away if you don’t.”
Georgia blinked. Her throat was tight, her mouth dry.
She looked down at their joined hands, Erin’s tan deeper than her own.
“Okay,” she said, just above a whisper. “Then let’s talk. Properly. Preferably with a lot more wine.”
Erin squeezed her hand. “Maybe without the wine, if we’re doing it properly.”
Georgia laughed. “You’ve been speaking to the coaches at Westcliffe, haven’t you?”
“I've got them on speed dial. All part of my masterplan, you know.”
Georgia tilted her head. “A masterplan centred on pasta and emotional stability. Devious. Practically Bond villain levels.”
Erin arched an eyebrow, contorting her face into a cartoon approximation of evil. “Vell vell vell, Georgia Bond. Here you are, trapped and at my mercy. Vat shall I do with you?” She turned her head, raised her voice into a shout. “Crumpet: the lasers!”
Georgia laughed again, surprised at how much she was enjoying herself. How much she wanted to laugh. She let go just long enough to reach for her wineglass, then thought better of it. If we’re doing it properly.
“Okay,” Erin said, dropping the terrible accent. “Then properly. What now?”
Georgia hesitated, rubbing the pad of her hand over the back of Erin’s hand. “I think that’s up to you. I’ve spent the last few weeks blinded by nostalgia, by someone who seemed easy. It didn’t work.”
“Arsehole,” Erin muttered under her breath, unable to help herself. “What a twat.”
“He was…fine. He’s not a bad person.”
“Not to out myself as a raging man-hating lesbian or anything,” Erin said, her smile slipping into self-deprecating, “but I think men are held to very different standards than we are. If I spoke to you like that?” She shook her head, irritated.
“Yeah,” Georgia agreed. “He never made me feel seen, you know? Not properly. Not like…”
She stopped, heat blooming in her cheeks again.
Erin didn’t push.
Georgia took a breath. “But that scares me too. I feel like, with you, there’s nowhere to hide.”
“That’s fair. And I think we both know I was the one who got scared first.”
Georgia looked up, catching Erin watching her back steadily.
This was it.
The moment the whole evening – perhaps longer – had been leading to.
Erin leant into her, pressing her against the back of the sofa, hands fisting in the material of Georgia’s top. Georgia slid her feet forward, her back slipping down the cushions, until they were face to face.
The kiss was slow and unhurried.
Georgia lifted a hand, let her knuckles drift down the inside seam of Erin’s jeans, where her thigh was tucked under her. She was warm under her hand, steady.
“Still part of your masterplan?” Georgia asked as she pulled away, barely moving far enough away to separate their lips.
Erin grinned but didn’t answer, her hands sliding behind Georgia’s neck, slipping into the hair at the nape of her neck. There was no hesitation this time, no uncertain middle ground.
Georgia inhaled sharply through her nose. The first kiss of the evening had been gentle, careful. This was not. This was the answer to every 'what if' that had ever burned between them.
Erin’s mouth was warm and insistent, her thumb brushing along Georgia’s jaw like it had every right to be there. Georgia shifted forward, closing the gap between them, pulling Erin in with both hands, closing on the tightly knitted wool of her jumper, sliding underneath to rest against warm skin.
Erin bit down, her teeth digging into Georgia’s lower lip, and leant backwards, pulling Georgia with her.
Georgia exhaled into the kiss, letting her hands drift along the toned plane of Erin’s side.
She could feel the way Erin’s skin erupted into goosebumps at her touch, and feel the way Erin was moving underneath her, arching into her body.
“Okay,” Georgia breathed, when they finally parted, their foreheads touching. “That’s… Yeah. Wow.”
Erin grinned, her own hands drifting aimlessly over Georgia’s shoulders, her collarbones, pushing her hair behind her ears. Her face was flushed, colour sitting high on her cheeks. “Wow indeed. And that’s not even the best part.”
Georgia let her eyes close for a moment, forehead pressed to Erin’s, breath slowing. “You always this cocky?”
Erin’s hand trailed from Georgia’s jaw, tracing the lines of her lips. She shrugged. “Only when I know I’m right.”
Outside the window, the trees were rustling, their branches knocking together in the wind. The road back to Westcliffe was going to be dark and gusty, the wind whipping across the downs.
It would be easy to lean back down, kiss Erin again. It would be easy to stay the night, climb off the sofa and pull Erin into bed. Stay for a sleepover, to steal Tam’s phrasing. Lose herself in physicality.
Georgia pulled back and eased away, keeping her hand on Erin’s solid thigh. Erin leant up to kiss her again, softer and more chaste, and then let her go.
“Last game of the calendar year soon, right?”
Georgia settled between Erin's legs, laid her head on Erin’s stomach. Erin’s hands combed through the loose strands of Georgia's hair, scratching her scalp in rhythmic motions.
“Yeah. Nottingham, the Wyverns. Then the Christmas break. It’s fallen nicely for us this year.”
Erin pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You ready?”
“We will be,” Georgia promised, lifting her head to look at her again. “Do you want a ticket?”
“I don’t know,” Erin said lightly, teasingly. “I’m not really into rugby.”
“Shame,” Georgia mumbled, pressing a light kiss to the swell of her breasts.
“I mean, I don’t have any plans. Maybe you can introduce me to the new Westcliffe captain? She’s super good looking.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” promised Georgia, a smile twitching the corner of her mouth. “But I’ve heard she’s kind of messy at the moment.”
“Messy at the moment I can deal with,” Erin said. “I’ve waited a while for a second chance, I’m in no rush.”