Page 77 of Lucky Night

He stood right behind her and inhaled deeply. He couldn’t smell a thing—maybe because he was soaked in booze. As she reached for the tap her dress shifted, exposing a bra strap.

Good God!An erring lace! A sweet disorder in the dress. A something something wild civility.Who wrote that?

Who fucking cares?

She turned the tap off, and her necklace shifted. He wanted topluck it up, wrap it around his hand, hold it like reins and bend her over.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t!

But if he could. That would be life.

’Twould be life.

Christ he was hammered.

Which is why, rather than clear his throat, or tap her on the shoulder, or back quietly away from her and from a potentially reputation-destroying error—instead of choosing any of those sane and respectable courses of action, he picked up the end of her long strand of pearls and put it in his mouth.

She must have felt the necklace move. He saw a hand go up and touch her throat.

Then she turned, to find him standing right on top of her.

With her necklace in his mouth.

Her eyes went round and baffled. Of course they did!

He spit out the pearls.

He stood before her, hands at his sides, helpless.

Instantly, horribly sober. And fucked.

So fucked!

But she didn’t scream, or kick him in the nuts. She took his hand and led him out the back door, onto the deck. It was freezing. She pulled him into the shadow of the roof overhang. He stumbled, bumped into her, he didn’t know what todo.

She leaned against the side of the house and guided his hand to her hip. Oh, that’s, yes, that’s a woman’s hip, warm under the slippery black fabric. Her hand on top of his, holding it there. He put his other hand on her neck, his fingers skimming up the nape, into her hair. It was so dark he could barely see her. Their breath clouded between them whitely.

He leaned in. Pressed his lips to hers. They were dry. Then their mouths opened, and…

Well, it was bad, frankly.

It was fucking awful.

Teeth knocking, noses bumping. He made some critical mistakes with his tongue.

But they didn’t give up. They were old enough to know you have to be patient sometimes, you have to adjust. So they adjusted.

Then something clicked, and good God.

It was tremendous.

They made out for ten minutes. He put his hand up her dress. She pushed it back down, which, fair. She did let him have a go at a boob, though. Thank you, gentle lady, oh thank you, his first encounter with her perfect, her exquisite…he was a teenager again, feeling up a girl for the first time. She pressed herself against his erection. Who was this woman? Why was she giving him this gift? He felt her hand on the back of his neck. Her fingers in his hair.

I will do this forever, he thought. For the rest of my life, I will be here, on Tim Park’s back porch, kissing this delicious, this beautiful and generous stranger.

Then a door slammed, somewhere in the house.

They broke apart.

---