Page 50 of Fundamentals in Flirting

Closing the bedroom door and leaving Agnes to get ready for bed, we turned back to the living area and had to face the elephant in the room: I only had one bed in my flat, and Agnes was in it. Other than the bathroom, and the kitchen-living area we were standing in, there were no other rooms in my very small abode.

“Where the hell are we going to sleep?”

Teddy looked at me in confusion and rubbed his hand up the back of his neck.

“Don’t you have another bedroom?”

I shook my head. “Just the one.”

I hadn’t really thought this through, had I? I’d lured him here with the promise of electricity and that had forced us into close proximity for the night. Yes, that old chestnut. It was such a cliché – a truly avoidable and unnecessary situation, right?

“Right.” He paused. “I could go home?”

Yes, this is exactly what he should do. He should go back to his own house. It would avoid all awkwardness and weirdness between us. He wouldn’t get any ideas and I wouldn’t unintentionally (absolutely intentionally) reciprocate them. But why wasn’t I agreeing with him? Why was my mouth stubbornly remaining shut?

The storm seemed to have returned and was really raging now. A huge gust of wind suddenly battered the building, making the roof tiles rattle above our heads.

“I’m sure we can figure something out.”

What am I saying?

My brain was clearly malfunctioning in a spectacular and horrible way.

“If you’re sure?”

No, I’m not sure. I’m bonkers. Obviously.

I eyed the small armchairs and wondered if we could contort ourselves into one each and sleep there. But there wasn’t very much padding in the seats and if I had to be honest, they smelled a bit like wet dog. Even standing next to them, Teddy made them look as though they were straight out of Lilliput.

Ferreting about in the airing cupboard, I found some extra pillows and blankets. “We can use these to fashion something on the floor, but it might not be very comfy.”

We set about moving the furniture to the edge of the small room, creating as much floor space as possible, laying down the cushions and blankets into two makeshift beds, that were, unavoidably, quite close together. We both stared at the nest we’d made, not looking at each other. It seemed too intimate, too dangerous. And far too far away from being a purely platonic situation.

There were a few moments of silence and an awkward game of eyeball tennis during which we quickly averted our gazes whenever they met, before Teddy cleared his throat and murmured quietly, “Should we just go to bed then?”

“Right. Ok. Righto,” I replied before darting away to the bathroom to change into a pair of pyjamas. When I returned to the living room, Teddy was dressed only in his boxers and was in the process of climbing under the covers. He wriggled about to try and get comfortable on the floor-bed under the window.

“Are you sure you’re ok down there?” I asked, getting into the other bed, the soft hue of the table lamp casting long shadows on his face.

“Yep, very comfortable, thanks,” he said, smiling over at me.

“How’s your head?”

“Better.”

“Ok, goodnight,” I whispered, turning off the light and rolling onto my side to face away from him.

“Goodnight, Hannah.”

I lay still for a few minutes, but my mind would not switch off. I was acutely aware of Teddy’s scent as it tortuously pervaded my nostrils, and even the sound of him breathing was loud in my ears. I shifted about a bit, trying to get comfy, but eventually I turned back over. My eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that I could pick out his profile just a foot or so away.

“Teddy?”

“Yes?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Clearly not. Why?”

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