Page 65 of Only One Bed: Anthology Vol. 1
Holding On
Ali Williams
She’d gotten lightheaded the first time that they’d kissed.
They’d been at her favourite bookshop in town and he’d been talking about listening to War of the Worlds on repeat, half singing little snippets of it to her, and all she could think about was the fact that she wanted him to kiss her. That for all their attraction to each other, for all his swagger and his ability to make her laugh, that it was this version of him that she wanted to kiss the most; sweet, a little self-deprecating, and ever so slightly geeky. And she’d found herself stepping up close, laughing at what he said, and then looking at him. There’d been a moment when his words died on his lips and he looked at her back, and that moment? That was the moment when she realised that this would be a Kiss.
And it was. He could kiss.
He could really kiss.
It had been gentle and sweet, and then as she deepened it, their lips scalding against each other’s, he’d pulled her flush against his body and she found herself being thoroughly kissed in a manner that made her heart beat that little bit faster and her glasses fog up in a way they hadn’t in years. If his hand hadn’t snaked around her waist, anchoring her, she wasn’t entirely sure that her knees wouldn’t have given way. Then they’d come up for air, eyes averted, suddenly shy, with a slightly awkward laugh and a glance round to see if anyone else in the shop had seen them, when all she’d wanted to do was to grab the lapels of his shirt and pull him back towards her, to lean up against the bookshelves and kiss and kiss until they were dizzy with desire and she could feel him again, hard against her thigh.
Each time they’d met, it had been exactly like that. Spending lazy afternoons in pubs, singing their hearts out in karaoke bars, dancing at spontaneous gigs on the beach. They’d walk and talk for hours, eating up days and moments, as if time didn’t exist. He’d tease her in a way that made her blush until he apologised in a half laughing voice that said that he wasn’t all that sorry really, that he liked seeing her shy and laughing and flustered. And then eventually that look would creep back in. She’d catch his eye and there it was again. That need to be kissed.
She wasn’t quite sure why it was that he affected her like this.
No. That was a lie.
There was the fact that he was funny, and a little more cool than she knew what to do with, and just the right amount of nerdy. And he was interested in what she had to say and her opinions; wanted to know her. Wanted her to take up space in his life. There was a comfort between the two of them that made her want to bare herself to him, to let her vulnerabilities and softness unfurl petal by petal until he held her delicate fragility in his hands. And when he kissed her there was laughter and desire intermingling in his eyes as he captured each gasp that she breathed out with his lips. Fingers dancing along the underside of her knee – the most innocuous of movements, but one that drove her wild – and then the feel of his breath along her neck as he bent to kiss along her jawline. They were the sweetest of moments. Ones that made her head spin with dreams of kisses pressed against her lips on Saturday afternoons on the couch in front of the tv.
And now she was here, at his flat. By his front door. The first date at his place.
She paused momentarily, not wanting to lift her hand to knock into the possibility of something going wrong. Up until here, up until now, anything could happen. But the moment that she stepped through that door, anything would. She’d end up spilling something on the carpet, or coughing at a really inopportune moment, or even embarrassing herself by shrieking at a particularly jumpy point in the film they’d planned to watch, and finish it off by falling off the sofa. None of those things appealed, and whilst she was outside the flat, none of them were actually happening.
It was, she decided, the Schrödinger’s cat of romantic possibilities.
She’d probably have waited outside for far longer than was entirely necessary if he hadn’t opened the door, all ruffled blond hair and easy smiles. And then she felt all kinds of comfortable, all kinds of relaxed, reassured that he wouldn’t laugh at her too much if she really did fall off the sofa.
Stepping into the apartment, he leant down to kiss her cheek, lips caressing her skin in a movement that made her sigh involuntarily, and then flush as his blue eyes met hers, amused. Delighted by that giveaway sound.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Words that would usually flow, unbidden, to her lips froze upon her tongue as she found herself grinning at him, unable to keep a smile from floating across her face. It felt like there was a warm glow inside her, one that heated her up from the inside out, and as his hand glanced against hers as she handed him her coat, she couldn’t help but smile a more secret smile to herself.
It had never been like this.
Never.
The mere touch of his hand made her want more. Need more of the comfort between them that promised sweetness shot with fun and laughter. It made her think of afternoons sat on the beach, eating fish and chips and dodging aggressive seagulls. It made her think of running through summer storms for shelter, dripping wet and yet still laughing. And it made her think of being safe; of being able to just stop and cry in his arms.
She found herself slipping her hand into his, their fingers intertwining in a dance that ended when he tugged her towards him in one swift movement, bending his head to brush her lips with his.
His mouth was gentle but firm against hers. A sweet kiss. One that said how much he wanted to have her here, with him, in this moment of their making. And she kissed him gently back, her hand curling up to caress his cheek as she felt herself unwind. The remnants of tension, of the anxiety that had hounded her before she’d arrived, just melting away against the warmth of their touch.
Then one quick kiss dropped upon her forehead, where it sat, branding her skin with him, as she took her shoes off and they went into the living room.
It was a relief to realise that she wasn’t going to have to explain her need to shuck cushions off couches before she could sit down, but she still stood, slightly awkward, until he raised an eyebrow in question. And then she sat next to him, bolt upright. All that nervousness edging its way back into the corners of her mind. She could sense him leaning back, finding that spot on his sofa that was his and she felt just so damn lost. Sat frozen like she didn’t want to curl right up against him, to lie her hand against his chest and feel the thud of his heart beneath her fingertips.
It had been too long.
Too long since she’d sat with someone like this – shared space on a couch together – and she wasn’t entirely certain that she knew how to do it. How did you go from sitting upright to that casual lean back, where thighs and arms kissed against each other? She didn’t even realise that she was fidgeting, her fingers dancing a tarantella against her knees until his hands reached out to partner them in the dance.
Looking up, those blue blue eyes caught hers and she smiled shyly, loosing one hand to run it through her hair, the action allowing her to break eye contact for a moment and recentre herself. Allow a little equilibrium back into the moment.
She breathed in. Once. Twice. And then met his gaze head on this time. She watched as he stretched out one arm along the back of the sofa and she found herself curling inwards against him, the fragility of her trust fluttering against his like a butterfly’s wings. His arm curved around her, and she raised her hand to rest against his chest, just like she’d wanted to do, and breathed out. This was okay. It was okay. They were okay.
