Page 85 of The Love Hack

And it was. Actually, it was better. There was less hesitancy now. There was no doubt in his mind that I wanted to be kissed, and none in mine that he wanted to kiss me. I felt no shyness in reaching down under the duvet, running my fingertips down the muscled ridges of his torso – all those Crossfit classes had done their job, I thought – until I found the warm, springy hardness of his cock, knowing before I touched it the sound of pleasure he’d make when my fingertips brushed his skin.

He knew, too. He knew where to touch me, and how firmly, and for how long. He knew when I couldn’t bear to wait any more, and how quickly to move once he was inside me. He knew the instant when I was about to orgasm so that he could let go, too.

Afterwards, we showered together, splashing and giggling like loons, then dressed and threw our belongings into our bags and ran downstairs, stepping hand-in-hand out into the morning.

It was eight o’clock, still cool and fresh. The air sparkled like it had been through a dishwasher. The stream of people on the sidewalk, making their way to the station to go to work, all seemed to be smiling. Even the little dogs on their early morning walks seemed to have an extra spring in their steps.

We found the café I’d been to on my first day in the city, sat at a table in the window and ordered coffee. Then Ross had a stack of pancakes with bacon and maple syrup and I had a smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel, and a portion of cheesy grits because he said it was my last day in New York and if I hadn’t tried them yet, I had to now. And when I tasted them and made a face, he laughed and traded them for three of his pancakes.

‘So, what’s the plan?’ he asked. ‘We could take a walk in Prospect Park. Or we could go up the Empire State Building. Unless there’s something you’d rather do?’

I licked a drop of maple syrup off my finger. The thought of spending the day with Ross was almost irresistible, but I knew what I had to do.

Ross read my thoughts as clearly as if I’d spoken.

‘Sometimes when I’m out here I pay a visit to the fire station where Dad worked,’ he said. ‘I take them doughnuts. I’ll do that. You?—’

I nodded. ‘I’ll go and see my sister.’

THIRTY-THREE

As I approached the building on West Seventeenth Street, I felt my steps growing slower, as if someone had replaced the comfy Air-Ware soles of my boots with concrete. There was so much I wanted to say to Amelie, but I didn’t know how I was going to say it – or whether she’d be willing to listen.

On the corner before my sister’s apartment block was a little arcade of shops and I paused outside them, dithering. There was a florist selling enormous bunches of lilies and peonies, as well as hand-tied bouquets with ferns and all sorts of other things in them as well as the flowers. But I remembered Amelie telling me in the early days of their relationship that Zack had sent flowers to the office where she worked every day for a whole month until the girl who sat next to her’s hayfever got so bad she had to ask him to stop.

I didn’t want to do anything that would remind her of the time when Zack made her so happy she used to sing all the time, out of tune and getting the words wrong, until all the people in her office had literally begged her to stop that too.

Next to the florist was a patisserie, its window filled with a wedding-themed display of pastel-frosted cupcakes and one towering three-tier extravaganza with ombre icing and sugar rosebuds cascading down its side. I definitely didn’t want to remind my sister of her wedding day, either, but when I peered through the glass I saw a counter laden with things that looked more promising.

Ross was taking his father’s old colleagues doughnuts for a treat, so I decided I might as well do the same. They were saving lives and needed calories, but my sister was growing one and would need them just as much.

After careful consideration, I selected four doughnuts: one matcha tea, one vanilla, one chocolate truffle and one raspberry jam, which I figured covered all bases. Clutching them in a paper bag, I pushed open the door to the street, and almost collided with Amelie.

Her eyes were concealed behind huge black sunglasses and the interior of the store was a lot dimmer than the bright day outside, so she didn’t recognise me at first.

‘Excuse m— Oh. It’s you.’

‘It’s me.’ Now that I was face to face with her, my determination to come and see her seemed even more foolish than it had in Brooklyn an hour before. ‘I wanted to… I bought doughnuts.’

The tight line of Amelie’s mouth softened. ‘Is one of them matcha?’

I nodded.

‘Were you planning to eat them all yourself?’

I shook my head.

‘Come on, then. Shall we walk?’

‘Let’s walk.’

I followed her down the street and up onto the disused railway line that had been turned into a park – or rather a kind of ribbon of open space, overlooked by buildings but lush with greenery – which my tourist research had told me was called the High Line.

‘Are you feeling better?’ I ventured. ‘Since you’re out of bed and everything?’

‘A bit,’ she said. ‘I haven’t puked since yesterday and I woke up this morning absolutely starving. So I came out for carbs. Imagine living here and not being able to eat – it’s an absolute piss-take. When are you flying home?’

‘This evening. Unless—’ I stopped. If Amelie had needed me, I’d have stayed longer, but she’d given no indication that she did, and I didn’t want to break whatever tentative truce she had declared by pushing things.

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