Page 4 of One Night With You

‘Invite the poor man in,’ Jackson stage-whispers from the doorway of my bedroom, breaking the spell. ‘He’s getting rained on!’

I snap out of my daydream and rearrange my features into something I hope conveys friendly, but detached. Back to business.

‘Right then,’ I say, reminding myself to smile. ‘Come in.’ He crosses the threshold and I notice him about to slip offhis trainers. It feels pervy to notice he’s got massive feet, but jeez. The man could’ve water-skied here. You know what they say about men with big feet, et cetera …

‘Don’t worry about your shoes,’ I add. ‘We’re a shoes-on house. It’s okay.’

The sofa guy – Nic – issues a funny guffaw sound before responding: ‘If it’s all the same to you, I will slip ’em off. Mum’d go mental if she thought I’d trampled through somebody’s house. I’ve got a sore back-of-the-head even thinking about it!’

Over his shoulder I see Candice looking pointedly at his arse with her glimmering big brown eyes as if to say:sweet, huh?I gently shake my head at her to warn her to pack it in before she makes me laugh, but he sees, casting his eyes back at her in confusion.

‘Just through here,’ I say, distracting him. ‘Excuse the mess. I’m halfway through packing up my life.’

‘No worries,’ he declares, as he follows where I’m pointing and crosses into my room in front of me. Behind him it’s impossible not to notice that Candice has a point about his arse. ‘I’m halfway throughunpacking my life, so I get it.’

Nic sees Jackson then, who has been lingering in my room listening.

‘How do,’ he says with a little wave. ‘I’m Nic, here for the sofa.’

‘Isn’t shebeautiful?’ Jackson gushes.

I canfeelNic redden once again as he replies, stiffening: ‘You what?’

‘The love seat?’ Jackson says, but he knows full well what he is doing. It immediately feels unkind.We’re not laughing at you,I want to say,the guys are laughing at me.I have an urge to reach out a hand to Nic’s so he feels protected,somehow, so he knows I’m on his side and we’re not total monsters who can’t control themselves. Plus it would be a great excuse just to have that human touch, that connection, I think, noticing his thick biceps that taper off into manly, dense wrists. I think of him holding that sword we saw in the photo. I think of how small my waist would feel in those substantial hands.

Bloody hell.Focus. What am I even doing, eyeing him up?

‘Jackson,’ I say, stepping in, waving my empty glass at him. ‘You wouldn’t mind pouring out another round with Candice, would you? In the kitchen?’

Basically, can you sod off?is the request behind my words.You’re making this awkward.

Jackson smirks. ‘I’ll leave you two alone,’ he states, and he deliberately brushes his shoulder against mine as he sashays by, nudging me in the direction of my buyer.

‘Thank you.’ I smile. Turning my attention back to Nic forces him to whip his head down, avoiding eye contact. It was the right thing, getting rid of everyone else. Wearea bit of an intimidating bunch. We’ve been told that before. It’s sweet, though, how easily he blushes. Whatever the opposite of a poker face is, he has it. Every emotion passes across his features like channels on a TV when you sit on the remote. It’s disarming. Charming.

‘It’s all been cleaned down,’ I explain, trying to get back on track. ‘Vacuumed and brushed. All of that.’ I gesture towards the two-seater love seat he’s here to collect. ‘Feel free to inspect it. The condition should be exactly as I described in the ad – there’s just that mark at the side there, like you can see. I’m sad to be parting with her, to be honest. She just doesn’t fit in the hire car, and if it doesn’t fit in the car it has to be left behind. So … give her a good home.’

Nic crouches down and runs a wide, flat palm over the velvet upholstery, considering the lumps and bumps, examining the scuff but otherwise nodding his head. His eyes narrow in concentration, and I all but expect his tongue to dart out of his mouth like a little kid doing a class project. I’ll bet he was adorable as an eight-year-old.

‘We said sixty?’ he asks, finally. His voice has settled into something lower now we’re alone. Ruminating, you could say. I wouldn’t mind a voice like that reading me a bedtime story, year of celibacy or otherwise.

‘We did.’

‘Great.’ He nods. ‘Yeah. I’m made up with that. I’ll transfer you the cash right now, then I can get out of your way.’ He stands and gets out his phone from his jacket pocket, and I realise that I’m weirdly aware of this stranger’s smell: musky and manly. If we were in a bar, I’d let him buy me a drink. Am I mad if I say there’s some sort of chemistry cracking off here? There’s a vibe. First I was looking at his arse, now I’m rubbing my neck in a subtle gesture of flirtation. When did that happen? When did my body start flirting before my mind knew what was happening? I haven’t meant to, but crap – I’m giving himsigns.How unexpected! I think it was how he very first grinned at me. How can a woman resist a massive, boyish grin like that?

‘No, gosh, don’t worry. You’re saving me from all this.’ I half-heartedly gesture at the boxes with a flourish and give some deep eye contact. ‘I’m grateful of a break. Take your time.’ More eye contact. I linger, then look away. I can’t help myself. I really am giving this man some game. Could it be that Candice and Jackson were right? Am I honestly going to crack on and lay it on thick, have a bit of fun before I go? Maybe Ishouldget him to stay for a spritz …

‘What’s your sort code?’ he asks. ‘The transfer should be immediate.’

I give him my details, and, as he narrates the steps of paying me, I sneak another peek at him. His features are softer in real life than in the photos we saw on social media. Short dark hair, revealing a dense neck that narrows into the top of his jacket. His lips are full and his dusting of shadowy stubble adds a little rough to his look. We saw on Instagram that when he’s clean-shaven he looks really, really young. I almost want to tell him I like the five o’clock shadow, but stop myself when I realise I’m not supposed to know how he looks without it. I wonder what his ex is like. I wonder who broke up with who. Before I can stop myself, I wonder what he likes in bed, if he’s gentle or rough, how much time he spends on foreplay.Ruby, calm down,I coach myself.

An alert lets us know that the money has landed. I pick up my phone and wave it at him.

‘Done!’ I declare.

‘Simple as that,’ he says, smiling at the floor.

‘Yeah …’ I agree.

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