by Holly Martin
‘I’m fine, I’m fine, but I might just get my wallet, there’s been a spate of car break-ins round here lately,’ he lied.
‘Really?’ She sat up in alarm. ‘I might come out with you then, put the steering wheel lock on my car, just in case.’
‘No, I’ll do it for you, it’s raining, there’s no point in both of us getting wet.’
She conceded this and passed him her keys.
As soon as he had closed the flat door behind him, he yanked open the main front door, grabbed Libby’s hand and pulled her towards her flat.
She laughed as she followed in his wake, despite the fact that she was already soaked to the skin.
Inside the flat, he turned to face her. She was shivering violently, but laughing hard. He laughed as well.
‘Libby Joseph, you will get me into so much trouble one day.’
She couldn’t stop laughing, as she trembled. ‘I must have sleepwalked again. I’m sorry, George.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure you are.’
‘George, are you drunk?’
‘Yes. Completely.’ He laughed. ‘I can’t actually remember the last time I was this drunk, but I imagine I was very young.’
She giggled. ‘Have you been drinking wine?’
He nodded, sheepishly.
‘You know you shouldn’t drink wine, how many have you had?’
‘Five, six, I’m not sure. I was very stressed.’
Libby laughed, shivering against the cold.
George pulled her to her bedroom and without thinking he pulled her t-shirt off. As soon as he had done it, he realised how inappropriate it was, but as he was on his fifth glass of wine, he found it really funny and started laughing again.
He grabbed another t-shirt and pulled it over her head, but it was very low cut.
‘Did you want to do my pyjama bottoms as well?’
He blushed and grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it round her, holding her in his arms.
She giggled. ‘God, it feels like we’re having a sordid affair, creeping around behind your wife’s back.’
‘Well in that case, I better give you a quickie before I go back.’ And not really knowing why, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. Just a brief kiss, feeling her hot mouth against his, made his heart explode.
He stepped back, and laughed at what he had just done. God, he was stupidly drunk, and the adrenaline coursing through his body was just making the situation worse.
Libby looked stunned, but then laughed as well. ‘I’m not taking the blame for that. I take full responsibility for turning up in your bedroom in the middle of your date, but I’m not taking the blame for that kiss.’
‘You should, Libby Joseph, you drive me wild.’ With that he stepped forward and kissed her again, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her tightly against him.
But to his great surprise, after a few seconds of her standing in shock, she started to kiss him back. Her mouth was moving softly against his lips, her tongue tentatively sliding against his, her hands in his hair.
George pulled back in shock. ‘Good God, woman, what are you doing to me?’ He laughed. ‘I better go. Get changed for goodness’ sake, you’ll catch your death, sitting around in wet pyjamas. I’ve got to go back now and have sex with a beautiful woman, wish me luck.’
He was confused slightly by the look of disappointment that suddenly crossed Libby’s face. ‘Check under your bed for your next present. Three days before Christmas…’ he sang as he raced back to his flat, burst through the door and vaulted over the sofa. ‘Hey!’ he said to Cerys, with a big grin on his face.
She frowned. ‘You OK? You’re practically glowing, like you’ve just won the lottery or something.’
‘No, I’m fine, I just… I just ran back here so I wouldn’t get too wet in the rain.’
She surveyed him. ‘You don’t look very wet.’
Oh what a tangled web we weave. ‘Like I said, I ran.’ George turned away so she wouldn’t see him smirk. He grabbed his glass of wine and drank it down. His heart was beating so fast. But now amongst the fear of sex, the panic of Cerys discovering Libby, was another feeling: lust and desire for Libby, for what had just happened with Libby.
* * *
Libby stood in her bedroom in shock. What had just happened between them? She knew she shouldn’t read too much into George kissing her, he had been very drunk, but she had really enjoyed it. It hadn’t been part of a date or for practice, it had been purely because George had wanted to kiss her.
But why had he kissed her? Was it at all possible that he had feelings for her? But then why was he with Cerys if he liked her? Libby wanted to talk to him about it, but he was with Cerys. At this very moment they might be having sex, she could hardly walk in and say, ‘Excuse me, George, but about our kiss…’
Libby wondered what he would do if she walked over there now and said that she wanted him to finish that kiss, that she wanted him to choose her. Would he? Would he politely show Cerys the door and then take her into his bedroom and make love to her as beautifully as he had kissed her? Would he laugh and say something like, ‘Libby, that’s really sweet but I’m with Cerys now, I don’t need you any more.’ She didn’t think she could bear that. But she couldn’t bear the thought that he and Cerys would be having sex either.
There was a tiny part of her that wanted it to go well tonight, for George to get what he wanted out of it. But the wholly selfish part wanted it to go badly, wanted him to be thinking of her, comparing her favourably with Cerys.
She knelt down and dug under the bed to find a large paper bag. Inside were two oversized green elf shoe slippers with curly toes and bells on the end. She smiled with love for him.
She got changed out of her wet pyjamas, switched on her laptop; she needed some distraction now, and paced the lounge whilst it loaded up.
She wanted to finish that kiss, she knew that much, she wanted George’s hands on her just like he had held her when he had kissed her. It was so…commanding.
The laptop flickered to life, distracting her with its usual ping, with her emotions whirling out of control. She sat down in front of it.
She opened up her latest story, ideas suddenly whirring through her head. She closed her eyes, remembering how lovely it felt to be in George’s arms, remembering his kiss. She opened her eyes, and started writing.
* * *
George and Cerys watched the rest of the film in silence. Well, ‘watched’ was probably an overstatement, especially on his part. He stared at the screen, experiencing a rollercoaster of emotions. Part of him wanted to come up with another excuse to leave the flat just so he could run over to Libby’s flat and kiss her again. But another part of him was wracked with guilt. Had he just cheated on Cerys? Could it be classed as cheating when they were only on their first date? Either way he felt absolutely crap about it.
Now, the pressing problem of sex was also creeping back into his mind. With Libby out the picture there was nothing else to stop the forthcoming coitus. He finished the bottle of wine that Cerys had hardly touched and opened a second.
The film finished, way too prematurely for his liking, and he turned it off. Playing for time, he ejected the DVD and put it back into its box. ‘Well, what did you think?’
She shrugged. ‘Yeah, it was OK, I suppose.’
He felt incensed by this. How could she not enjoy it? His Girl Friday was one of his all-time favourite films. She should at least have a bit more of an opinion than just ‘it was OK’.
There was a silence as he stood in the middle of the lounge, a long silence punctuated only with his heart thundering in his ears. Cerys stared at him, clearly waiting for him to make the first move. She’d have a long bloody wait. In fact, he seemed to be paralysed with fear, his feet glued to the carpet where he stood.
‘Erm, Cerys, you should know, I’m not that… experienced in this department.’
‘You don’t need to worry, George, where you lack in experience, I more than mak
e up for it. I’ve been with many men.’
She patted the chair next to her but he couldn’t move at all. What she had just said hung in the air. Was that supposed to make him feel better, that she’d been with many men? If anything, that made him feel worse. What if Josie had been right? What if he was crap in bed? What if Cerys laughed at how bad he was? What if she told everyone and anyone how awful it was? He could imagine her laughing loudly about it in her local, telling everyone who would listen.
Cerys stood up and launched herself at him like a rabid dog.
So this was it, there was nothing that was going to interrupt him now, no other reason to stop her. He told himself that sex with Cerys would be a good thing, an end to his long sexual abstinence.
Cerys kissed him hard, forcing her tongue into his mouth. She seemed to be quite enjoying herself. He was not. He couldn’t decide where to put his hands, her bum seemed too familiar and her waist seemed too polite for what she had in mind. Her tongue was so far down the back of his throat, he was pretty sure it could be classed as a choking hazard. He didn’t know whether to close his eyes or keep them open, or whether he should just keep one eye open and one closed, though he realised that might be a bit weird. She was pulling his hair so hard, licking all over his face like some kind of dog. It was gross. What was wrong with him? He should be enjoying this. She was pulling him back towards the sofa, kissing and licking all over his face.
She put his hands on her breasts and he tried to decide whether he should squeeze them, stroke them or rub them. He tried squeezing the left and stroking the right, but neither seemed to provoke any reaction in her, she was too busy licking his chin.
She leaned into his ear, licking it, nipping at it with her teeth. She whispered, ‘I’m not wearing any underwear.’
Strangely that was a huge turn-off.
Her hands were under his shirt, stroking his chest, his stomach, his belly. She looked down at his stomach, patting it with some amusement. ‘George, you really must go down to the gym, you’re a bit wobbly.’ She leaned in to kiss him again.
He turned away, hurt, but Cerys wasn’t to be put off. She kissed his neck and then forced his head round so she could kiss him on the mouth once more.
This was so not what kissing should be like. Kissing should be beautiful; it should be romantic and tender. It should be like it was when he was kissing Libby, the perfect kiss. But kissing could only be like that when you were in love with the person you were kissing. And he certainly wasn’t in love with Cerys. How could he kiss her when he felt nothing for her? How could he have sex with her? There was a reason it was called making love – it was because you should do it with someone you loved.
Clarity tugged at the periphery of his brain. He tried to focus on it, on the nagging doubt that was filling his mind. This wasn’t right.
‘Take your shirt off,’ she ordered.
He smiled wryly. ‘Cerys, you just told me I was fat, so excuse me if I don’t feel ready to take all my clothes off in front of you just yet.’
‘I didn’t say fat, just… not toned. But that’s why you should go down the gym – it will help you feel more confident in the bedroom department. If you feel that self-conscious you could keep your shirt on, then I won’t see it.’
He thought that what he really needed to feel more confident in the bedroom was not to be told he was fat in the first place, or to be told that he should cover it up with his shirt so she wouldn’t be repulsed by him.
Libby had said that he was beautiful, that Cerys had to love him for who he was, or not at all.
And suddenly the lucidity he had been grasping for slammed into his brain. He didn’t want to sleep with Cerys. He wanted Libby and sleeping with Cerys wouldn’t be fair to him or to her. Libby probably didn’t want him in that way but there was no way he should settle for a poor substitute, someone who didn’t like him for who he was.
‘This isn’t going to work,’ he said, quietly.
Cerys’ face fell and he felt horribly guilty. ‘I’m drunk and…’ He gestured vainly to his groin.
‘Is it me, George?’ she said, quietly. ‘Do you not find me attractive?’
‘Cerys, it’s not you at all, it’s me, stage fright, being with a beautiful woman, well … it’s kind of intimidating.’
She pouted as she bent to put her shoes back on in what she clearly hoped was a suggestive way. She obviously wasn’t used to getting this reaction.
He sat down on the sofa.
‘Can I see you tomorrow?’ she asked.
Was she kidding? There was no chemistry at all between them and she still wanted to try again?
‘Erm…’ George tried to find the right words to turn her down, but couldn’t. Though she obviously took his silence as an assent.
‘I’ll… bring something to help with your little problem,’ Cerys grinned. ‘You can cook for me, and I don’t want you to drink so much tomorrow; that probably hasn’t helped tonight.’
Then she kissed him on the head and left.
He sighed as he stood up. He would call her tomorrow and make some excuse.
His thoughts strayed back to Libby. He had made a complete fool of himself kissing his best friend too. And he knew he had cheated on the first woman he had dated in years in the process.
He well and truly felt like an arse. He had no right to be with Cerys if his mind was on Libby the whole time, it wasn’t fair. And he certainly shouldn’t be kissing Libby behind her back. He really wasn’t cut out for the ‘having his cake and eating it’ kind of lifestyle. He leaned his head against the coolness of the door. But annoyingly his brain didn’t agree. Because knowing that he shouldn’t be kissing Libby made him want it even more. He wanted nothing more now than to go over to her flat and kiss her again. To spend the rest of the night, holding her in her bed and kissing her. Oh, this was dangerous. He turned round and, spotting the second bottle of wine that had been opened, he decided pouring himself another glass might help him to make his mind up. Failing that, it might at least render him unconscious and unable to kiss her again, which was probably the safer option.
* * *
After Libby had written several pages of beautiful, detailed love scenes between Eliza and Charles, she scrolled through, reading what she had written. With George uppermost in her mind, she had written possibly her best sex scenes ever. And now there was nothing she wanted more than to make those words a reality, but that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He was with Cerys right now, making love to Cerys, a beautiful woman – ‘a gift from the gods,’ Nick had said. How could Libby have let this happen? He belonged with her. She had spent so long dithering about whether this was something she wanted or not over the last few days and now it was too late. She stood up and wandered sadly over to the window. The moon was no more than a sliver in the cloud-filled sky.
Just at that moment, she heard George’s flat door close. A moment later, the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her life came running down the steps, her long red hair flying in the wind like scarlet ribbons.
So this was Cerys, and Libby could see what all the fuss was about: she was stunning. Though as she moved round the car to get something out the back, Libby did think that the shortness of her dress and the lethal-looking stilettos did mar the effect of her beauty somewhat. As did the rather plunging neckline, her breasts practically falling out. Less Venus, more page three girl. Though Libby supposed George hadn’t minded it.
As Cerys closed the back door, she dropped the keys on the ground, and when she bent to pick them up, Libby was treated to something she would have preferred not to see. Was the lack of underwear designed for easy access? Libby shuddered at the thought. Cerys did look a bit… ruffled. Had they had sex?
Libby shook her head and, turning from the window, she headed for bed.
But dreams were very far away as she lay in bed. The memory of George kissing her was fresh, vivid, and she knew she had to talk to him. But she was hardly going to get anything c
oherent out of him tonight. But maybe she didn’t need anything coherent – maybe just going over there and kissing him again would be enough to give her the answer. No, that would be dangerous. Kissing him when he was drunk and probably horny would not be good. Who knew what it might lead to? She rolled over in bed and closed her eyes, determined to go to sleep.
* * *
George was lying in bed, the room literally spinning around him. He couldn’t quite believe how drunk he was.
Libby. The woman of his dreams. She was the only one he wanted, the only thing in his mind. She had definitely kissed him back. And the only thing he could think of now was to go over to her flat and finish that kiss.
He sat up decisively. He would go over. Maybe he couldn’t finish that kiss, but he would at least give her the option. Or maybe it was better to kiss first and ask questions later. He walked across the foyer with a bit of difficulty and let himself into her flat.
Heading straight for her bedroom, he opened the door and saw she was lying in bed, clearly awake.
‘George? Are you OK?’ Libby sat up, pulling back the duvet for him, which he took to be a very good sign. If he could only make it into the bed; unfortunately his legs seemed to want to take him straight to the wall.
‘Are you actually more drunk than the last time I saw you?’ Libby giggled.
‘Completely drunk, more drunk than anyone has ever been in their lives.’ George finally made it to the bed and sat down. In a most ungraceful way he pulled his jeans off and then lay down, propping himself up on one side to look at her. Both of her. She seemed to be very close, but then that was probably his fault; there was a whole half of bed behind him. He hadn’t left her much room to lie in at all.
‘You only have yourself to blame.’
‘No, I’m blaming you entirely. Had you not turned up on my bed in the middle of my date, I wouldn’t have got stressed out and wouldn’t have drunk myself into a coma.’
‘So you’re not going to take any of the responsibility yourself, it’s all my fault?’