Page 61 of Special Delivery
‘Not me. I’ve never needed moves so I never developed any. I am a woman without moves. No seductress potential here; everyone can keep calm and carry on.’
James was refilling their wineglasses. ‘Didn’t you have a boyfriend for almost a decade though? How did you nab him, if not with your seductive moves?’ He looked at her and waggled his eyebrows again. For a good-looking guy, he looked embarrassingly stupid pretending to be sexy.
‘We got together when I was twenty-two. We basically got drunk at a bar and went home together and then kept doing it until it became habit, so unless you count drinking my bodyweight in overpriced Jaegerbombs, I think I can say with confidence that I have no moves of the seductive variety.’
James peered at her over his wineglass. ‘I don’t believe you. You need moves even when you’re in a relationship. How else do you get what you want?’
‘Nope,’ Poppy insisted, taking a large gulp of wine. ‘I never needed to be sexy—just needed to know the routine. Tuesdays, Thursdays, weekends. Never after footy training, never after a three-course dinner. Super predictable, super easy—just a bit of him on top, me on top, maybe some doggie, then—’
‘Stop!’ cried James, covering his ears. ‘Okay, you win, you have no moves. I don’t need to hear about your past sex life!’
Poppy laughed, vindicated. How good was wine for eliminating oversharing anxiety? ‘You asked for it. And that provesmy point. I can’t be sexy, so you are in no danger of being seduced while hanging out with me.’
James cocked his head. ‘I don’t think that’s true.’ He didn’t waggle his eyebrows this time. He held her eyes for two long seconds and Poppy stopped laughing. A heat was creeping up her neck but also down to other body parts that hadn’t felt like this in a long time.
James grabbed the remote. ‘What are we watching now?’
Poppy exhaled and felt the adrenaline subside. After that moment, she would happily watch another twenty-four hours of soul-destroying reality TV if it kept things in neutral territory. ‘Channel Nine and chill’ was anything but chill.
As the credits began to roll after the re-run ofHappy Gilmore, James stood. ‘I’ll clear up,’ he announced.
With another bottle of wine under their belts, the conversation had flowed easily through the ad breaks. They’d magnanimously shared the last row of chocolate and thankfully there’d been no more talk of past sex lives. Poppy must have been imagining the earlier frisson. There was definitely none now that James had described cutting Mary’s toenails.
‘Honestly, don’t worry,’ said Poppy, jumping up, but James was already on his way to the kitchen with the pizza boxes and plates.
She found him with the dishwasher open, pulling out the clean plates.
‘Here, let me,’ said Poppy, trying to wedge herself in to help. The 1980s kitchen wasn’t made for more than one user, especially if the second user was the size of James.
‘I’ve got it,’ James insisted. ‘You relax.’ He looked around the kitchen. ‘You can sit here and order me around.’ He picked her up by the waist and lifted her onto the kitchen bench as casually and effortlessly as if she were a clean Tupperware container that he was unloading from the dishwasher. In the scheme of what usually went on in her kitchen, it was outrageously sexy. Poppy hoped her breathing wasn’t as heavy and obvious as it sounded in her head.
She watched as he put the clean cutlery in the drawer and started opening cupboard doors to find her crockery shelves. The back of his t-shirt rose above his belt to reveal his toned back and Poppy’s wine eyes enjoyed not looking away. When he began rinsing the dirty plates before putting them in the dishwasher, Poppy actually grinned.This guy, she thought.This is the kind of guy who so many women would get off on. Handsome, house-trained, looks after his grandma. She could imagine her mum foaming at the mouth with delight if she ever brought him home. She wondered if he liked watching sport as much as he liked playing it. She could picture him sitting in her parents’ floral armchairs watching the cricket with her dad.
‘Where do these go?’ James asked, interrupting her daydreaming. He held up two breast pump attachments.
‘Oh shit.’
James smiled. ‘I am a midwife, Poppy, and a modern man. I know these bear no relation to your cup size.’ He did the eyebrow waggling thing again and she rolled her eyes and laughed. She pointed to the bottom left drawer. She couldn’t help grinning as she watched him put them away.
‘What’s that look for?’ asked James.
‘Nothing. You’re just so …’ She trailed off. Who knew what the wine would let her say tonight?
‘I’m so …?’ James wiped his hands on a tea towel and stood in front of her. His mouth was turned up slightly at the corners and his dark eyes were full of mischief, baiting her.
‘You’re so … tall.’
James bent his knees until he was eye level with her. With a jolt in her stomach, Poppy realised that their lips were also now level.
‘This better?’
Poppy felt her hands rise to rest on his shoulders. ‘Yes, this is a good perspective.’
James came closer, nudging her legs apart. His eyes were locked on hers and the mischievousness had vanished. As he stood to his full height, his hands tilted her head towards his and then landed on her waist. Poppy’s eyes widened.
‘And this? Is this abetterperspective?’
The wind flew out of Poppy’s chest. ‘Yes,’ she squeaked.
