Girls Night Out 3 E-Book Bundle. Gemma Burgess
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he regrets the night,’ he says. ‘It means he regrets the hangover.’
‘Should I text him back, then?’ she says. ‘I mean, I took it as rejection, it’s been like, two weeks. What’s the statute of limitations on that stuff?’
‘You are breaking my heart, Victoria,’ says JimmyJames loudly.
She turns to him and presses her finger to her lips. ‘Shh. Let’s play a game called Shut The Fuck Up.’
‘Sounds fun! What are the rules?’ he says.
‘I’ll give you some love life advice, Victoria,’ says Dave. ‘Don’t ask what he’s doing, or what he’s thinking, or when you’ll see him next. Christ, I hate text-terrogations.’
‘Ignore him,’ says Robert to Vix.
‘I need some new friends,’ says JimmyJames. ‘You lot fight more than my parents.’
‘Do you think I should go and check on Sophie?’ I say worriedly. ‘No,’ says Robert. ‘Luke will sort it out.’
I can’t bear the squirmy feeling in my stomach any more. Combined with the wine and cheese, and the worry about Sophie, Dave’s presence is genuinely making me ill. Perhaps I should go to bed. He keeps looking at me with those laughing eyes, like he knows how much I’m attracted to him and thinks it’s just a big joke.
Then, as if he’s reading my mind, Dave meets my eye again. I hold his gaze for as long as I can, and feel my face start to boil. I will not look away first, I will not look away first . . .
‘I think we should buy more wine, don’t you, Abigail?’ he says quietly.
‘Ye-yeah,’ I stutter, and then swallow. ‘The place shuts in 20 minutes, though.’
Dave stands up. ‘Abigail and I are going to get more booze. You three hold the fort.’
I stand up and, without making eye contact with anyone, leave the courtyard.
We walk through the house and out the front door silently. I feel even more conscious of Dave’s presence than ever. I didn’t think that was possible.
We start walking slowly up the quiet, dark street towards the centre of town.
‘Don’t worry about Bella,’ says Dave after a minute or so. ‘She doesn’t mean that stuff. She’ll make it up to your sister.’
‘I hope so,’ I say honestly. ‘Sophie would never upset someone on purpose. Bella is totally out of line.’
‘Bella will feel bad tomorrow, trust me.’
‘Good,’ I say firmly.
I glance at him. He’s going to kiss me, I realise with a jolt of certainty. The only question is when.
The village shop sells everything from pâté and wine, to figurines of ice-skating teddy bears. Dave holds open the door for me and we head towards the wine section together. We don’t speak, but oh God, the pressure is ridiculous. I’m hyper-conscious of his every move.
At the cash register, I put my hand out to pay. Dave grabs it and moves it away, giving the shopkeeper money with his other hand. He keeps hold of my hand as we leave the shop.
Finally, as we reach a quiet, dark patch of street about halfway between the shop and the house, he stops walking. The cold November night is completely still.
I turn to face him, trying to look cool and detached, rather than anxious and lustful.
I wonder if you can die from sexual tension.
‘Cocky little thing, aren’t you?’ he says, very quietly.
I raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m actually quite tall.’
‘So there’s nothing going on between you and Robert?’ he says.
I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just shake my head.
Then Dave leans forward and kisses me.
And it’s a very simple kiss. No tongues, no pressure. Simply his slightly cool lips pressed against mine. But – and I am not exaggerating here, I swear – an electric jolt goes right through my body, all the way to my toes and back. I want to gasp, but my lips are busy.
This is it. This is that spark I’ve been looking for.
After what feels like an hour, but is probably only about a minute, he leans back and raises his eyebrows at me. Even in the dark, he’s so fucking good-looking, I think for the eleven-thousandth time today. ‘Well, that was unexpected, wasn’t it?’ he says.
I grin at him, and he grins back. Oh, perfect sexy smile.
We put the wine bottles down and start kissing properly. Fucking hell, I keep thinking, fucking, fucking hell, this is amazing . . . My body is a tangled mess of electrical wires. He’s not too tall, so even in flats I can kiss him perfectly.
With one hand on my neck and one around my back, Dave walks me back a couple of steps till my back is up against the side of someone’s house, his whole body pressed against mine. Good thing downtown Autignac is basically asleep at 11 pm on a Saturday night I reflect, then I get lost in the kissing again.
‘I couldn’t take the way you were looking at me any longer,’ he says at one point.
‘Me?’ I gasp back a few seconds later. ‘You were the one staring at me all day.’
‘Let’s leave the wine in the kitchen, and take this upstairs,’ he says.
‘Won’t they miss us?’ I say.
‘Of course they will,’ he says. ‘But I couldn’t give a shit. Let’s go.’
‘Hello.’
I open my eyes. It’s a second before I remember where I am.
I am in my bed in my parents’ house in Autignac. Very naked. With Dave next to me. Also very naked.
‘Hello,’ I whisper.
We’re lying side by side, facing each other, in my little bedroom. The house is totally quiet: no one else is up yet. My chin feels hot and chafed – damn thee, stubble rash – and my breath is, I suspect, kittenesque. But I can’t bear to move. I’ll just breathe through my nose.
‘I was magnificent last night, wasn’t I?’ he whispers.
I start to laugh. Hell of a way to break the morning-after ice.
‘Come here,’ he murmurs, and pulls me towards him for a kiss.
‘Gently,’ I say. ‘My lips are swollen from all the snogging.’
‘I’ll kiss them better,’ he whispers, moving me underneath him and placing his hands on either side of my face.
And now, I must briefly draw a veil over your eyes, or perhaps cut to a scene of a rocket launching, a flower coming into bloom in fast-forward, or train pistons shunting back and forth. We all know how great sex is (unless you haven’t had sex yet, in which case: don’t rush, the first time sucks, and remember to play it safe). So just imagine it with a smooth-skinned, flat-stomached, very enthusiastic man who you fancy so much that you want to grab and paw and bite every inch of him. That’s what this is.
My God, sex is amazing. To think that I used to actively try to avoid it when I was living with – no, no. Don’t think his name. Just think about Dave. Concentrate on the now. (How zen I am.)
‘Ahh, la belle France,’ says Dave, an hour later, as we lie on the seriously rumpled sheets.
‘My poor childhood books, seeing this sort of activity. They’ve led such sheltered lives,’ I say. ‘What time is it?’
‘I don’t know,’