Chapter 44
Luckily, it doesn’t take too much longer to find my tent, but I still make a mental note to camp next to a notable landmark next time.
‘You’re welcome for the directions,’ Elliot says with mirth in his tone as he unzips my tent and holds the flap open for me.
‘Directions my ass,’ I quip as I bend down to crawl inside.
It’s pitch-black until I switch my lamp on, and the terrifying truth seems to illuminate the stiflingly small space at the same time.
It’s clear what we’re doing in here – what we both hope might happen next.
But the very real possibility of it going badly almost stops me in my tracks.
‘We probably would have wandered around for hours if I hadn’t spotted that flag,’ he says smugly as he seals my tent door closed. He turns to see me sitting cross-legged at the top of my mat, as far away from him as I could possibly be. He must note my nervous smile and freezes.
‘Are you alright?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I say honestly, but my shoulders are tensed up so badly they’re nearly up by my ears.
He slowly sits down on the other end of the mat, a solid metre away from me. A soft smile curves his lips. ‘Nora, we don’t have to do anything. We can just hang out. Or head back to the festival if you want, get a drink or something.’
I wrinkle my nose at him. ‘I don’t want to do that.’
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘What do you want to do?’
I press my lips together, considering the man sitting in my tent looking at me with nothing but patience. And when I start to wonder what on earth he’s doing here, I remind myself that he chose to be here. He wants to be here.
‘I have a question for you,’ I say.
‘Shoot.’
I wrap my arms around my knees and perch my chin on top of them. ‘What did you really think about me when we first met?’
It’s clearly not what he’s expecting me to say. ‘My first impression of you? What makes you ask that?’
‘I’m curious.’
He considers the question and makes himself more comfortable by leaning back on his hands.
‘You definitely made a strong first impression. To be totally honest, I wasn’t sure where I stood with you because I didn’t know if you genuinely hated my guts or if you were just kidding around.
Or if you might just be this brutally honest, fascinating person and we weren’t on the same page.
But I liked that you were honest with me.
I found it really fucking refreshing. And from the start I had a feeling that you were just someone I wanted to…
know.’ His brows furrow together. ‘I don’t know if that makes sense. ’
‘It makes sense. So you liked the brutal honesty? At that point I think it might have just been straight-up rudeness.’
‘Yeah, it’s something I value after my last relationship,’ he says with a shrug, before his voice goes a pitch lower.
‘And I mean – maybe this is bold to say, but I thought you were like, unfathomably pretty. Like the kind of pretty you don’t get to see in person very often.
You’re kind of all of my fantasies merged into one, actually,’ he finishes quietly.
It takes every muscle in my body to remain composed, making a conscious effort to stay sitting upright. I have no idea how to respond to a compliment like this, leaving me to attempt to stifle a grin, and failing. ‘Did you really think I disliked you?’
He snorts, then points his finger in the air. ‘I believe this is a direct quote: “maybe I’ll stop arguing with you when you stop being completely insufferable”.’
‘You were being insufferable,’ I say with a laugh. ‘And you called me unreasonable.’
‘You were being unreasonable,’ he shoots back flatly.
‘Fine,’ I reply with a grin, letting my legs fall back down. I pull my sleeping bag into my lap and mindlessly fiddle with the material. ‘So, am I quite as sensational as you first envisioned?’ I joke.
‘No,’ he says, his eyes soft. ‘You’re better.’
Warmth floods my insides and I waste no time getting to my knees and crawling over to him to capture his lips against mine.
I’d already forgotten how good it feels to kiss him; I intend for it to be quick, but find myself greedily going in for more.
He leans into it but makes no move to touch me or deepen the kiss, and I know he’s leaving it up to me to escalate things if I want to.
An invisible string pulls me away from him and plants me back down on my bed, a few feet closer than before.
‘Are you not going to ask me the same question?’ I ask him.
He gives me a wry look. ‘I’m aware I don’t make good first impressions.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I mean, it wasn’t all bad. You, um…’ I chew on my bottom lip as I’m struck with a strange yet intriguing idea. ‘Could I, um, ask you a favour?’
He sits up a little straighter. ‘Anything.’
I wonder how I might get the words out without sounding like I’ve suddenly become feral. ‘Would you mind, uh…’ I wince. ‘Taking your shirt off?’
His eyebrows soar upward, but he takes a pinch of his shirt and nods down at it. ‘This?’
I nod, feeling a tingle of heat in my cheeks. He considers it only for a moment before pulling it off and tossing it into the corner of the tent. He eyes me again with ease; he doesn’t seem even the slightest bit self-conscious.
‘Is this… better?’ he asks politely.
‘Yeah,’ I breathe, my eyes glued to the hard lines of his torso. ‘I’m slowly getting used to how hot you are. I’m acclimatising.’
He barks out a laugh. ‘Okay,’ he says in disbelief. ‘If shedding any other clothing might help, just let me know.’
‘No, thank you.’ I expel a breath. ‘I’m good for now. That is enough to deal with,’ I say, motioning towards his front.
He looks down at himself as if to check we’re seeing the same thing. ‘You should see the guys at my gym,’ he mutters.
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘Alright. Anyway,’ he begins, leaning back on his hands again, and I have to work very hard to keep my eyes fixed on his face. I mostly fail. ‘You were saying.’
‘Oh.’ I take a deep breath and continue. ‘I mean, sure. I didn’t get the best first impression of you.’
‘Come on… let me have it. I can take it,’ he says with that trademark Elliot smirk back in place.
‘Okay, if we’re being honest.’ I regard him cooly and stretch my legs out in front of me.
‘I thought you were potentially the most annoyingly good-looking prick that walked this earth. Classic hot dickhead syndrome. At one point you made me so furious I actually thought about physically attacking you. And I’m not a violent woman. ’
‘Really? That bad?’
‘Mmm. That first conversation with you made me so angry I could have bottled it. But… you redeemed yourself,’ I say.
‘Good,’ he replies seriously. ‘I’m sorry for that first conversation, you know – if I was rude.’
‘Oh, you were rude. But I was too,’ I admit with an apologetic smile.
‘Unique situation,’ he notes.
I nod in agreement and find my gaze drifting back down to his beautiful body.
To my delight, my idea seems to be working.
The hum of my nerves has cooled down and I’ve been able to hold a conversation with him, despite the staggering distraction that is his chest and abs.
And arms. And shoulders. His voice breaks me out of my reverie.
‘Does this game go both ways?’
My eyes fly back upward. ‘Sorry?’
‘Could I make a request for an item of clothing to come off?’ he asks, his voice gritty and low.
I swallow. ‘Of mine?’
He nods. ‘You can say no,’ he says firmly, his eyes never leaving mine. ‘I’m… acclimatising too.’
A spark of excitement shoots down the centre of me, and I have to fight to slow down my breath. ‘Okay.’
He nods down at my chest. ‘Top.’
I mentally thank myself again for choosing to put on my nicest bra this morning as I tug off my t-shirt and drop it next to me.
His eyes slam shut as if he’s seen something he shouldn’t, then releases a steady breath. ‘My conversational skills are probably going to go downhill from here. Just a warning.’
A warm buzz erupts in my chest, which I can only assume is something close to pride. That I have such an effect on him. It feels strangely powerful.
‘That’s fine.’
He forces his eyes back open and his eyes pierce mine. ‘So, when are we going out?’
‘Oh.’ I blink with surprise at his directness. ‘Um, whenever. My next few weeks are pretty quiet.’
‘Me too,’ he says. ‘I can come to Brighton if you want to avoid the London crowds.’
‘Arguably, I would have to suck it up and do it at some point.’
‘Well, when you do we’ll just do whatever you need. I’m guessing you can’t do the underground?’
I shake my head bashfully.
‘That’s fine,’ he says with confidence. ‘We’ll walk.’
I scoff with laughter. ‘London is massive–’
‘We’ll walk,’ he insists. ‘Or get a cab or a bus or whatever it is you want to do.’
I chew lightly on my bottom lip. ‘Thank you.’
‘No thanks necessary,’ he says in a firm tone. ‘But I’ll come to Brighton first, if that’s what you want.’
‘Yeah,’ I reply with a grin. ‘Sounds perfect.’
‘Okay, next week then?’
‘Next week.’ I’m having trouble wiping the beaming smile off my face. ‘Okay, now jeans,’ I add, feeling brave.
He agrees, then stands to takes them off as gracefully as one can take off jeans in a small tent. I avert my gaze from his black briefs as he sits back down.
‘Your turn,’ he says matter-of-factly.
A part of me wants to berate myself for only owning comfortable pants, as I reveal them from underneath my shorts. Instinctively I want to cover myself, but his reaction stops me: his eyelids grow heavier and his gaze is deliberately slow as it travels over me.
I gulp. The air in the tent suddenly feels stiflingly hot.
‘How are you… uh, feeling?’ he asks.
‘Okay.’ My voice sounds low and vaguely unfamiliar. ‘A bit hungry, actually. I’m not sure when I last ate.’
He snaps to attention. ‘That can be remedied.’ He reaches for his jeans and retrieves something from the pocket. My jaw drops with delight.
‘Oh thank God, strawberry laces.’ I launch myself towards them as he tears open the bag, and nearly find myself in his lap.