Page 66 of One Night With You

‘And then the second right,’ she says. ‘I’m the tower block right there if you remember. You should be able to park right outside the door.’

We go inside and hang up our coats, take off our shoes. The apartment is a small one-bed. From the entry hall there’s a bathroom on the right, a bedroom on the left, and right ahead is the kitchen-diner. The walls are white, but itfeelsvery Ruby: she’s got framed film posters leaning up on shelves and on top of drawers, with smaller pictures of friends and family scattered throughout too. When I lived with Millie everything was shades of beige, all very neutral. Here there is a woven rug on the lounge floor and colourful crockery stacked on the open shelves over the sink. It surprises me that pride of place is given to a poster forThe Miseducation of Lauryn Hillalbum.

‘I loved that album too,’ I say, pointing. ‘Back when CDs were a thing.’

She looks up. ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I think it’s the first piece of music I listened to as a body of work. I was only ten or something when it came out, but I must have been an early teenager when I snaffled a copy in a charity shop. I just liked the cover. But it was a revelation. Before that album I’d buy CDs and only be interested in the songs that had been released, and then with that one she told this whole story, all her heartache and wants and longings. I got obsessed with her relationship with Wyclef Jean – about how he led her on, how they’d have these high passions and blazing rows that basically ended up breaking up the Fugees. She still went to his wedding, though, when he married somebody else. Ijust thought: there’s a woman leaving everything on the court. Giving life everything she has.’

‘Wow,’ I say. ‘I just liked it because Ollie did, and he’s cooler than me.’

She smiles. ‘Tea?’ she says. ‘I’ve got beer, if you want a beer. Warm milk?’

‘Will you make me a hot chocolate?’ I ask. ‘Like you did …’

‘That night?’ she says, smiling. ‘I will. Yes.’

I watch her like I watched her last time. She’s barefoot and in leggings, pulling off her jumper when she gets too hot so she’s only in Lycra and a white T-shirt. I can’t help myself. I walk behind her and wrap my arms around her, leaning in to kiss her neck.

‘I’ve had fun today,’ I say, after she kisses me, shooing me away so she doesn’t burn the bottom of the pan. She pours the liquid into two mugs and we stand, both leaning against the countertop, blowing the steam from where it escapes the cups.

‘I’ve had fun too.’ She smiles.

‘I can’t believe you thought I was only after sex,’ I tease. ‘What a filthy mind.’

‘We had a one-night stand, Nic. Of course it was only sex.’

‘Until it wasn’t.’

‘Until it wasn’t.’

‘And so,’ I say. ‘This is nice. You. Me. Us.’

She smiles. ‘So, what’s the plan?’ she ventures. ‘Not to sound like a girl or anything. Or, actually, yes, I mean to sound exactly like a girl. I’m old enough to ask that question and shoot right to the point, aren’t I?’

‘You are.’ I nod. ‘And so am I. I don’t want to screw this up, so let’s just agree to that now. We don’t make assumptions, and we ask what we need to ask.’

‘That’s very healthy and mature,’ she says, taking a slurp of her drink. ‘So … I won’t assume you’re spending the night, I’ll ask: Nic, are you spending the night?’

I put down my drink. She puts down hers. I lift her up so that she is in my arms and reply: ‘If I could just show you to your bedroom, ma’am, I can confirm the answer to that.’

It’s gentler, this time. Not as feral. When we first slept together there was an unspoken knowledge that we’d only get one night, and so anything went. This time, it doesn’t feel like a finality, it feels like something is just beginning, and so I take my time. We lie in her bed opposite each other, both naked, both touching and stroking and caressing. I tell her she’s beautiful. She tells me I’m hot. She jokes about my sword, about having watched me all day, but it’s all done in whispers, making everything we say intimate and confessional. If we raised our voices, we wouldn’t be saying the things we are saying but because it’s just us, hushed under a duvet, it’s safe to say them.

I pull her into me so that she’s on her back, my arm scooped under her and her head on my chest, where we can kiss with ease. With my other hand I push open her legs and let my fingers wander. She squirms, saying it tickles, but I push them open again, and tell her firmly: ‘No moving.’

She lies still and giggles as I tease her with my fingertips, finding a rhythm that makes her breathe heavier, and then almost pant. We kiss until she melts into me enough that it stops even really being that – she’s breathing into my mouth as I touch her, a little bit faster and then a little bit slower, until her legs buckle and kick and she shudders and moans into my mouth, ‘Yes. Yes.’

I put on a condom and then roll over onto her and fitmyself between her slick legs, and we hold eye contact as it happens until she pushes her head up and back with a deep groan as I enter her. She wraps her legs around my back and pulls me into her, again and again, again and again, and it doesn’t take long before I groan in release myself. I stay there, on top of her, catching my breath and shrinking inside of her, and then she laughs. And it makes me laugh.

‘Why are we laughing?’ I ask. ‘I know I’m laughing too, but why?’

‘I’m laughing because I’m happy,’ she says.

‘I like that,’ I tell her. ‘I like making you happy.’

She grins.

‘Can I see you after Paris?’ I ask her. ‘If you’re coming back into St Pancras, I could meet you off the train? Get lunch, or dinner, or a drink? Anything.’

‘I’d like that,’ she whispers. ‘Yes. See you after Paris.’

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