21
Emily knew what tonight was. After their almost-sex at the pub. She was ready. She wanted him and she was sure he wanted her as well.
The good underwear came out first. Lace. Black. Matching. Which in her world meant trying too hard, but she did it anyway. She stood there in her towel, staring at the drawer for way too long.
The whole routine took forever. Kookai crop top, black. That high-low Sass his knuckles brushed the edge of her thigh and she felt a pulse where fabric met skin.
‘Back in a sec,’ she managed, standing up.
The bathroom mirror was scratched to hell, grimy from a thousand rushed touch-ups. Emily gripped the edge of the sink.
This was their last night.
The reality hit like a physical thing. He was leaving. Really leaving. Not the vague ‘see you around’ kind of leaving. The getting-on-a-plane-to-another-continent kind.
Was she just a travel story? A warm body at the right time? Another girl he might file by city?
Even as she thought it, Emily knew it wasn’t true. The way he looked at her, touched her, remembered every little thing she’d said. This meant something to him too.
Her throat went tight. She wanted to splash water on her face but twenty minutes of eyeliner symmetry wasn’t worth sacrificing. So she stared at the girl in the mirror, trying to make her look less breakable.
By the time she got back, the dumplings had arrived. Steam curled up between them like all the words they weren’t saying. His fingers found her thigh again, tapping that three-beat rhythm.
They ate. Emily fumbled with chopsticks and tried not to think about what came after food. After drinks.
The music shifted, slowed. Something designed for bodies pressed together in the dark.
‘Come dance with me,’ he said.
She snorted. ‘I don’t dance.’
‘You danced at the Royal.’
‘That was tequila dancing.’
‘I could get you a shot.’
The words tumbled out before she could stop them. ‘What, for you to reject me again for being too messy?’
No.
His eyes stayed steady on hers.
‘I did not reject you. Do you have any idea how difficult it was not to come after you that night?’
Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.
He leaned closer. ‘I wanted you. I want you. More than I have ever wanted anyone.’
The air left her lungs.
‘But I want to remember what it feels like to touch you. Every curve. Every sound you make. What it feels like to be inside you. I want it burned into my memory.’
He stood, held out his hand.
She took it.
The dance floor was a dark corner near the bar, red light washing the walls. He pulled her in, deliberate. One hand at her waist, the other wrapped around hers.
This wasn’t the messy grinding of a pub dance. This was intent. Pressure. Promise.
His fingers traced her hip. His jaw skimmed her temple.
‘You have no idea what you do to me.’ His voice was rough. ‘I can feel you in my fingertips. In my throat.’
Emily’s heart hammered against her ribs. She held on tighter.
They moved through the song pressed together, neither of them willing to create space. When it ended, they stayed.
He kissed beneath her jaw. Then below her ear.
Her whole body lit up.
He led her back to the booth and then his mouth was on hers. Deliberate, all the heat he’d been holding back. He kissed like he already missed her. She kissed him like she didn’t care about tomorrow.
Her brain, helpful as always, chose that moment to panic.
The spiral started. Where exactly was this going? Her loft bed with the Kmart sheets and the housemates who thought the flush was optional?
Emily pulled back, breathless.
Leo took her hand, kissed her cheek, and led her out. Through the narrow halls, past the kebab-shop guy’s knowing look.
Outside, Melbourne had decided to throw a full tantrum: sheets of rain, properly dramatic. They huddled under the tiny awning.
Then Leo smiled.
‘Come on.’
They ran. Down Little Bourke Street, dodging neon signs and steam from restaurant vents, water streaming down their faces, laughing like idiots. At some point he pressed her against a brick wall, kissed her until her knees forgot their purpose.
Then Claude appeared with the car and an umbrella, immaculate as always.
‘Evening,’ he said, like they weren’t soaked through, lips swollen, hands definitely somewhere they shouldn’t be in public.
In the backseat, Leo kissed her slower. Like they had time. Like his departure wasn’t breathing down their necks.
‘Where to, sir?’ Claude asked.
Emily knew what came next. The awkward navigation of her sharehouse, the creaking bed, the paper-thin walls. But before she could spiral, Leo replied, ‘Back to the Langham, please, Claude.’
The relief was instant. Of course he was staying somewhere like the Langham. Of course he had already solved the problem she was twisting herself into knots over.
His fingers traced patterns on her thigh.
She caught his wrist, not stopping him, just slowing things. Their eyes met in the dim light, as the rain streaked the windows.
‘Leo,’ she whispered.
He stilled, waiting.
What could she say? That she wasn’t ready for this to end? That his leaving would gut her? That she was already falling and they both knew it?
Instead, Emily pressed her forehead to his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her, and they breathed together in the back of the car.