Jason lay on the edge of the bed in Keith’s flat. Next to him, between him and Keith, Esmé snored with a cat-like purr.
After finishing the bottle of champagne at the restaurant, Keith had invited them both back to his flat for a nightcap. He’d poured them small glasses of Cointreau and offered them tea. No point in coffee: he didn’t have an espresso machine. Cafés made coffee so much better than he could.
They talked a little, but the real conversation was unspoken. Each of them could sense the electricity in the air, the joint attraction which drew them together and linked them with wires of desire. They were reluctant to end this suspended, magical interlude, where so much was promised, where the future seemed potentially so full, and the now so exciting.
Jason had always felt a little uneasy with women. He had been able to have sex with his girlfriends but it had never been simple, or fun. But Esmé had been a friend first. After what she had suffered at the hands of her father, he felt that she needed to be loved and cared for. He admired her prettiness, the way her eyes shone, the sweet curve of her neck and her breasts, her curly brown hair.
He looked across at Keith, whose face was solemn, and their eyes met and locked. Then he leaned over and kissed Esmé on her lips.
They didn’t speak. Taking her hand and reaching out for Keith’s, Jason tugged them through to the bedroom.