Chapter Thirty-Two
Even though Sam was flirting with her that night, perhaps it was her fear that held her back. Even though he was smiley and paid her lots of attention, there was always that other voice; the negative voice, the voice of doubt, of self-protection, the ‘what if’ voice.
What if he turns out like Kirk?
What if there are rules and regulations?
What if there are ultimatums and talk-a-thons?
What if there are one month breaks with no contact?
Sasha watched as Sam danced with other girls too. She was not the only one. He could have his pick. He was so outgoing; so charismatic, so chatty. He was friendly with all the girls. What made her different?
With that in mind, something in her retreated. Even after all the flirting, something made her hold back.
He’ll have to prove himself, she thought. I’ll just wait. Wait to see if he snogs anyone else first. Time will tell.
She didn’t have the same desperate urgency that she’d had with Kirk. She wasn’t scheming, manipulating, planning. If it was going to happen, it would come to her; no coercing, no plotting.
So at the end of the night, after all the dancing, he led her over to a corner to sit. He looked at her intently, his face leaning in close to her, his body language screaming that he was angling for a kiss, if she let him. Immediately, her guard went up. This is not the time. He’s too drunk. This is not the moment for this to happen. I don’t know if this is just the drink talking. If I happen to be in the right place at the right time.
Body-swerving him entirely, she suggested, “Why don’t we go and sit outside? Have a smoke?”
He agreed and they found seats under the awning; lighting up cigarettes and sitting in the cool air. The chat had reverted back to small talk. The intensity of his earlier body language had gone. It was as though they were just good friends.
Although it was Sasha’s decision to step away from the scenario, she was worried that the moment had gone forever. Perhaps that her one chance. Perhaps now it was gone. Perhaps they’d crossed the line from potential snogging partners to just good friends. He would probably never try to kiss her again.
Oh God, Sasha scolded herself. I’m damaged goods. I am so irretrievably damaged by Kirk that I have a massive guard up against any potential partners. I’ll never be able to find love again.
But thankfully, Sam seemed too drunk to even notice or care. In fact, at the end of the night, when she went to leave, he gave her a sad frown on departure.
“You leaving?” he asked, mournfully.
“Yeah, I’m heading home,” she repeated unnecessarily, aware of her awkwardness and shyness around him.
“Aw…” he continued with a mournful grimace. “We should catch up again soon… get a drink or something…?” he asked her.
Sasha nodded, trying to do so coolly and not in the manner of an eager puppy dog desperate to get a treat. He’s asking me a on a date! The needy puppy inside her jumped up with excitement.
“Yeah, we should,” she agreed, trying to look as cool as possible.
“Add me on Facebook,” he said. “We’ll sort something.”
“Great,” she smiled.
And then she was gone, metaphorically punching the air in satisfied contentment.
Through Facebook messages, they decided on a film, followed by drinks.
Sitting next to him in the cinema, Sasha felt the electricity tingle down her arm as it brushed up against his. When she crossed her legs and her short skirt revealed the length of her thighs, she could have sworn she heard him gulp in appreciation.
Sasha did not concentrate on one word of the film, she was so consumed by the presence of Sam beside her; the awareness that his leg was pressed up next to hers, his arm pressed up against hers. Seeing his profile in the corner of her eye. Wondering if he would reach an arm around her. If he would plant a kiss on her head. If she would then tilt her head up to meet his.
But there was no hand holding. No kissing. No touching. Just sitting watching the film like a pair of awkward teenagers. How was it possible, Sasha thought, to be transported back to the awkwardness of age fourteen when she was over forty? It was incredible. Inventors would kill for time travel speediness of that velocity.
After the film, they walked to a bar where they ordered pints of beer and baskets of chips. The chat flowed and ended up at the subject of food and cooking, with Sam asking Sasha if she was a good cook.
“Well, I have a stab at it,” she replied. “But it’s usually simple stuff, like fajitas or moussaka.”
Sam nodded. “I like fajitas,” he grinned, adding a little wink.
Realising that he was fishing for an invite, Sasha smiled. “I should cook them for you sometime, then.”
“Oh good,” he said. “Glad you’re picking those hints off the floor.” He pretended to scoop something off the floor which made her giggle.
Was this a date? It looked like a date; cinema, drinks. If it looked like a date and sounded like a date, it probably was a date, she thought.
However, there was no kissing that night. Not even at the taxi rank. Sasha was aware that she had the cloak of fear wrapped tightly around her. She was aware that she was waiting. Waiting for what? She did not know. Waiting for him to prove himself? Waiting for him not to get off with any of the other girls in their circle? Waiting for him to prove that it was really her he wanted?
Sasha was aware that it was a tall order. That by placing such high demands on blokes, she could be a skeleton covered in cobwebs before Mr Perfect came along.
But something told her just to be patient. What’s the rush? If he likes you, he’ll wait.
So when she did invite him around for dinner, she had no idea if that would be the night they’d kiss.
She had made fajitas, as requested. There were two bottles of wine chilling in the fridge. She had lit candles and put on soft music. Then she decided the music was too soppy and turned it off again. The butterflies were flitting around in her stomach. She had to keep running to the loo. There was nothing else for it but to knock back a large glass of wine to take the edge off things.
When the doorbell rang, her stomach still flipped, despite the calming alcohol inside her.
She opened the door to see him standing there. Tall, smiley; a huge grin on his face.
“Hi, come in,” she smiled, stepping back and letting him enter. She walked behind him as he stepped into the living room, admiring the décor; savouring the cooking smells.
They sat and ate, chatting as amiably as they always had.
What was there to be nervous about? Sasha thought. He was always so easy to talk to.
But when they moved to the sofa, that awkwardness had returned. The big space between them on the sofa. No sign of any cuddling or kissing. Maybe this wasn’t a date after all. Maybe he just wanted to be my friend. Maybe he did really just want to try my fajitas.
She quietly congratulated herself for turning off the romantic music. Imagine how embarrassing it would be if he arrived to find a romantic setting when he was only actually visiting her as a mate.
Going to the bathroom, she had a quiet word with herself. Right, it’s 11pm now. He hasn’t kissed me by now so it’s not happening. You are both just friends. Let him say his goodbyes and go home.
When she returned to the sofa, he looked up at her and smiled. “You know, when my friend was giving me a lift over here, he asked me if this was a date.”
Sasha raised her eyebrows, a smile creeping across her face.
“Is this a date?” he asked, his voice heavy with expectation.
“I dunno…” she stumbled. “Do you want it to be a date?”
He chuckled and grabbed her hand in a playful embrace. “No, no, missy, I asked you first… is this a date?”
His face had got close to hers. His body was leaning in. She could feel his lips so close to hers.
“I…” she whispered. “I guess it is…”
His face edged closer to hers. “Good…” he whispered. “I thought so too…”
And then he kissed her. Soft. Hard. Slow. Fast. Passionate. Tentative. Until before long they were lying side by side on the sofa, devouring each other.
It felt wonderful. As though she was sinking down through the carpet. As though everything had fallen away. There was just him and her, alone on the sofa.
He paused for a moment, coming up for air. He looked deep into her eyes and said, “I have wanted to do that for a very long time…”
She smiled and then teased him. “So why didn’t you…?” she grinned.
He held her hands back playfully. “Because I didn’t know if you’d want me to.”
He traced a line down her side and near her breast, which made her tingle in anticipation.
“I want you to,” she whispered.
And then he kissed her again.