Chapter Fifty-Five
So much for thinking I was going to spend the night bawling into my pillow over a long-ago secret. That original plan had changed dramatically.
Instead, I was comfortably ensconced on a sofa. Next to me, was a goodlooking man. Together we were watching a classic animated film. The dogs were now stretched out in front of the burner’s flickering flames. They heaved contented sighs and closed their eyes.
Milo, sitting alongside me, shifted his weight. He set down his empty dinner plate on the floor. As he moved back, was it my imagination or was he sitting a tad closer? Certainly, his leg was now brushing against mine.
With a trembling hand, I sipped my brandy and tried to ignore the warmth from his body. The touch of his thigh. The thrilling zingers. My pulse quickened and my breathing became shallower. It was a struggle to focus on the film.
Milo roared with laughter. I joined in, taking the opportunity to suck air into my lungs, because breathing properly was becoming a problem – to the point of feeling lightheaded.
Seriously flustered, I chucked the remainder of the brandy down my neck and tried to concentrate on the film.
A pistol-happy penguin was causing mayhem, while Gromit clung to a runaway train with Wallace’s lampshade on his head. Wallace, meanwhile, was travelling at high speed on a parallel train track. He looked across at Gromit and begged for help. I identified with his inner panic. Whether it was the alcohol, the heat from Milo, or a genuine lack of oxygen, my emotions were spiralling out of control.
I wanted to tap Milo on the shoulder, tell him to forget all about the penguin and instead pucker up with the chick sitting beside him. Should I tell Milo that when a penguin found its mate, they stayed together for life? I wondered what he’d say if I asked him to be my penguin.
He’d think you’d lost the plot.
Cindy had opened her eyes and was staring at me. I met her gaze.
Go to sleep, I silently retorted.
I’m worried you’re going to make a prize berk of yourself.
I ignored her. After all, it wasn’t really my dog talking. It was my inner voice. The conscience. Or, well, something like that.
Meanwhile, how could I get Milo to think about me in the same way as his swipe-right ladies? Perhaps I could try chatting him up…
My name is Tilly, but you can call me Tonight.
Or…
I want to be your handbag, so I never leave your side.
Although Milo was male. He’d hardly have a handbag. Maybe a manbag? Or perhaps a briefcase? But then again, if a man took his briefcase everywhere, that would be a bit odd. Okay, Tilly. Forget the briefcase. What about…
You want to know who’s the sexiest man on the planet? Let me repeat that first word!
Or… what about a knock knock joke?
Knock knock…
Who’s there?
Tilly…
Tilly who?
Tilly who wants you to kiss you. Snog you. Ravish you…
I giggled tipsily to myself just as Milo laughed again at the penguin’s antics. I caught a waft of his aftershave. Closed my eyes. Breathed it in. Mm. Heavenly.
Eyes tightly shut, I inhaled again. God it was divine. Just like him. Another deep breath. Such a divine man. And breathe. Divine thighs. Breathe again. Divine hotness. One more deep breath. Divine zingers.
I wriggled contentedly on the sofa. Sighed heavily. Took one more deep breath – only to have sleep unexpectedly claim me.