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.
