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Penelope was in a foul mood. She knew she was in a foul mood. Somehow that made it worse. It was the heaviest, worst time of her period. The Tube had been miserable, complete with a middle aged man covered in Arsenal gear having a wank in the seat across from her while trying to catch her eye. Cressida had tried to go behind her back at work, again. Now she couldn’t find her Friday movie night wine. She slammed the cupboard. Where the sodding hell was it?
“What’s wrong, Pen? Princess Bride start time is in ten minutes. Eloise is already half way through the popcorn.” Colin said the words lightly.
She could picture where he was and how he was standing without even looking. He’d have one shoulder propped against the kitchen door frame, his body relaxed and languid. The combination of that soft voice and the easy way he claimed space would have her fizzing inside most days. Not today.
“What’s wrong is my flatmates hide the Syrah from me even though I’m the only one who drinks it.” She slammed a cupboard door again for good measure, keeping her gaze on the cheap, fake wood grain. Don’t give in and make eye contact. Not yet.
“All right, before you bring me before the authorities, Benedict was here the other night. Try up. Far up.”
She craned her neck to see. There it was, the dark bottle beckoning like an oasis in the desert. Not in a cupboard but on top of the bloody thing. “What? Why the fuck would he put it up there?”
Colin chuckled. “Old habit. He and Anthony used to hide anything good from us younger ones. He keeps forgetting I’m the same height as he is now.”
“If it’s empty, I swear to god. Extermination on sight.” Benedict had a bad habit of “forgetting” to replace what he’d taken on his frequent visits. She took a deep breath, trying to will herself to calm down.
She could do this. If she hopped on the counter top and balanced perfectly, she could reach it. Or maybe dragged a chair. Her mouth watered at the thought of the full bodied taste on her tongue, but it was so far away. . .
“Can I help?”
She turned around. Bit her lip. Then nodded, quietly grateful.
He didn’t smirk or do anything to rub it in. Just strolled over until he was right in her space. He’d showered and changed into joggers and an old gray jumper (her secret favorite). His hair clung in damp curls on the nape of his neck. Some expensive cedary body wash clung to him. It made her a little dizzy even after living with him for months.
She should be self conscious, her hair in messy bun, wearing her favorite purple leggings with a tiny hole at the knee and her truly dire One Direction t-shirt, but she wasn't somehow.
He stretched his stupid long arms above her head. Their bodies brushed, for an instant. Surely he could feel how fast her heart was beating, the flushed heat of her skin. Her bare toes curled against cold tile, some primitive part of her searching for solid ground. She could sidle away, but it was like she was stuck in a tractor beam, suspended in space.
The bottle thunked down. He settled his hands on either side of her then stopped. His body language said everything. Her move now. Her choice. She could sway into him. Let all her hard edges melt away. It’d be a hug. Normal enough for them.
But somehow, it wouldn’t be just that. Not in her current fragile state. She wouldn’t melt. She’d dissolve into him, swallowed whole by desire. Besides, part of her wanted to be prickly and difficult. She’d earned this grumpiness after the day she had.
She tipped her chin up so their eyes met. He didn’t blink so she didn’t either. “I could have gotten it if I had to.”
She willed him to understand without her saying anything. I don’t need you. I don’t need this. It’s too complicated and messy. We can’t. We’d just fuck up our entire friendship.
He raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, Colin,” he said, prompting her, not rude or nasty. Just waiting. Patiently.
She swallowed hard. “Thank you. I do appreciate it, really.”
A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “As you wish.”