And then my house is in sight, and then we’re outside it, and the walk is over. The night is over.
‘Well,’ I say. ‘Here we are.’
Then I remember what Laura said in the kitchen. About how I should tell him how I feel.
And just for a moment, I imagine what it would be like if the night weren’t over after all. I imagine him coming into the house and the two of us tumbling, sleepily, into bed. I imagine curling up next to him and chatting drowsily until we fall asleep. I imagine waking up tomorrow in the golden light of an early summer morning with his arm around me, his body pressed close againstme. I imagine him running his fingers over my hips, tracing the outline of me with those beautiful, skilled hands. I imagine rolling around to face him and kissing him. I imagine him making me come and then making me laugh.
It all sounds pretty good to me. Better than good. Right now it sounds like the thing I want most in the world.
And maybe, just maybe, all I have to do is ask for it.
So I say, ‘Do you … do you want to stay over tonight?’ Art doesn’t answer immediately so I say, ‘I mean, you might as well, now we’re here …’
My voice trails away. Art doesn’t say anything. But his face …
Oh God, his face.
It is not the face of a man who wants to spend the whole night in my arms and then wake up and give me so many orgasms I have to call in sick toNorthside.
His face looks … sad. Like he’s wishing I hadn’t just made things weird.
‘It’s a tempting offer,’ he says carefully, ‘but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I should head home. I think we’re both too tired.’
And it’s true. We’re obviously too exhausted for any sexual activity. Which is, I guess, the only reason he would spend the night with me. It didn’t cross his mind that I might have been inviting him to justliterallysleep with me. He’s not saying no because he doesn’t have clean clothes or whatever. It’s just because we’re too tired to fuck. I mean, why else would he share a bed with me?
Because of course, ofcoursewe’re just – what did he call us? Frenemies with benefits. Or rather actual friends with benefits, now. But nothing more.
I’m shocked, genuinely shocked, by how much this hurts me.
‘Oh, yeah!’ I say. ‘You’re right. Yeah, I should go straight to sleep.’
‘We’ve got a busy day tomorrow,’ says Art.
‘We sure do,’ I say brightly. ‘Well, I’d better go and get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘See you then,’ says Art. ‘It’s a big week!’
‘A big week!’ I echo, as he turns and walks towards Drumcondra Road. I watch him disappear into the darkness.
It’s a big week, all right.
A big week to do something stupid and pointless like falling for Art bloody Sullivan.
Chapter Twenty-Three
INT:NORTHSIDEOFFICES / EXT: IBC CAMPUS / INT: ANNIE AND ROO’S HOUSE
It doesn’t matter. That’s what I tell myself. It doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter that we’ve had this weird friends-with-benefits thing going on for the last two weeks – God, how is it only two weeks? It doesn’t matter that two days ago I had to bite my fist to stop myself crying out while he was kneeling between my thighs. He’s made me come multiple times and, thanks to interruptions, I’ve only made him come once. I suppose I owe him some orgasms. But he never made me feel like I owed him anything. Being with him might have been purely about pheromones or biology or chemistry or whatever, but it never felt … transactional. It always felt like whatever we were doing, we were both having fun.
But that’s over now.
Because when I enter the office early on Monday morning and he looks up from his desk and smiles at me, it hits me with a shock that whatever’s been happening between us has to stop right now. I can’t, I simplycan’tbe with him if we don’t feel the same way about each other. I can’t do it if I want a relationship and he just thinks of me as his fuck buddy.
So that’s it. I was stupid enough to catch feelings for that arrogant pain in the arse, and that means I can never kiss himagain. I can’t hear him laugh as he pulls me towards him again. I can’t flirt with him again – because of course we’ve been flirting this whole time, I can see that now. But never again. I can’t do any of it again.
Still, as I keep telling myself, it doesn’t matter. None of that matters right now.