Page 35 of Not Strictly Ballroom

I wonder if we could afford a place together. Is it too soon to think those thoughts? Probably, as this thing between us is so new, though it’s not like we haven’t known each other for years. But living in the same space permanently . . . That’s a big step. So, yes, probably best to not have those thoughts yet, even though I feel a bone-deep surety of how right it is that we’re together.

My bladder wins the race to force me to stop admiring Nick and actually move, so I head to the bathroom, grabbing some sweatpants on the way, as I intend to fix my hunger right after.

I’m just making two mugs of tea when Nick stumbles into the kitchen in sweatpants, his hair tousled, and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He comes over and puts his arms around me from behind, nuzzling into my neck.

“Mmm. I wish we could do this every day,” he says against my neck, and I sigh a small yes. My heart catches at him having thoughts similar to mine.

I resolutely ignore it, as it’s too soon to think about any of that. We’ll just have to make do with things as they are.

“Can you get the milk from the fridge?”

“Do I have to?” His hand is gently caressing up and down my back, his mouth sucking little marks onto my shoulder. It’s both beautiful and distracting and I’m finding it difficult to concentrate.

“Well, no, not if you don’t want tea or any food.”

Reluctantly he pulls away and I can think again, though a part of me wants to call him back and forget about food, forget about the hours of dance practice we have planned for today, and to drag him back to my bedroom. But we didn’t eat last night after expending a lot of energy, and I can feel the beginnings of nausea from the effects of low blood sugar, so even if we were to spend the day in bed, we’d still need some energy.

“What do you want for breakfast?” I ask. “Cereal, toast . . . we have eggs, maybe some bacon?”

“I want this.” He withdraws his head from the fridge and holds up the chocolate torte.

“Nick! You can’t eat that for breakfast.”

“Did you make this?” His smile lights up the drab morning light. “For me?”

“Yes, for dessert yesterday.” I try not to get distracted by the thought of why we missed dessert, or any food. Which just serves to remind me we still haven’t eaten. He puts the plate down on the countertop and stands in front of me, bracketing me with his arms.

“Thank you,” he whispers, and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “It means a lot that you made this for me.” He kisses me again. “You know that making me dessert is the way to my heart, don’t you?”

I’m caught off guard by his words. Was he saying he loved me? I mean, we love each other as best friends, but as boyfriends? Are we declaring it? There is no question that I love Nick. I don’t have a problem with that. But to admit it out loud feels like a step change, a non-returnable point. It seems far too big a declaration to whisper, half dressed, in a kitchen. So instead I deflect.

“Is it the way to your cock as well?” I hook a finger into the waistband of his sweatpants and release it with a twang, as I can see very well what effect it has.

He gives me a look, like I’ve just served myself up for dessert, and pushes his hips forward, whilst at the same time sliding his hands inside the back of my sweatpants and catching hold of my naked ass, pulling me forward to grind into his erection.

“What do you think?” he murmurs, before kissing me again, this time long and deep.

The loud grumble from his stomach is what eventually causes us to stop, though I could have happily stayed in his arms forever. He pulls away and I’m filled with a warm glow from the thought that this is so easy. Us, being together, expressing ourselves—we’ve not had the opportunity before, as we’ve always been in someone else’s space. I try not to choke on the reminder of how brief this time we have together is.

“You’re still not having dessert for breakfast.” I try to show my disapproval.

“I can,” Nick protests, and reaches for a plate to serve some up for himself. “We can have dessert for breakfast. It’s in the code.”

I laugh at him. He’s not getting me with that one again, but I can match him. “I’m sure it is. However, we’ve got a lot of practice to do today and just eating sugar isn’t going to cut it. You need some carbs as well. I’m not having you crashing on your old ass later because you didn’t eat properly.”

“Old ass! Old ass?” he almost yells, clutching his hands to his chest like I’ve just delivered the most crushing insult. I have no sympathy.

“Well, it’s older than mine.” I grin at him. “Actually, I might start calling you that for your nickname. Meet Nick, he’s my old ass.”

I place two bowls on the kitchen island and the box of cereal. Nick rolls his eyes but reaches for the box.

“If you do that, then I’ll call you my baby boy,” he blurts, and we both stop still. Ewwww. I’m pretty sure his grimace is a mirror image of the way my face is scrunched up in the way it does when you realise that you might have gone too far.

“I prefer ‘honey,’” I say softly, and his face relaxes.

He continues to pour cereal into the two bowls and drowns both of them in milk, as is the proper way.

“So why ‘honey?’” I ask, as I finish making the tea and then start tucking into my own cereal.

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