Page 65 of Oar Than Friends

‘Anyway, what I’m trying to do is ask you on a date, something I’ve been meaning to ask all week. Tonight, if you don’t have plans, I’ll drive over and take you to dinner. Please don’t have plans.’

I blinked, once. Twice. I didn’t know why I was finding it so hard to understand what he was saying, especially as I’d spent the last half hour with his mouth wrapped around mine, not to mention the last week dreaming about this exact moment.

‘Well?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I’d love to. But don’t you have training in the morning?’

‘Not until ten. Get excited for our first date, Yankee Doodle.’

He smacked a final kiss to my lips and led me off, and I let him because after that I was mentally planning my first date outfit with the hottest guy I’ve ever met in my life.

And that was how cleaning the river became the most romantic situation of my life to date.

13. Arthur

(Pies, pies and more pies)

Not to brag, but I brought my A-game to that kiss today.

A plus.

Five stars.

Two thumbs up.

It was fucking excellent, and I’d come to the conclusion that her mouth was made for mine. I’d hypothesized it for the entire afternoon since I watched her step up into the Cambridge bus, for the two hours we travelled back to Oxford, during my very quick shower and for most of the journey to where I was currently sitting in my car, waiting. There was no way that a mouth could fit so perfectly to mine without some kind of higher power being at play, therefore the only answer had to be ‘yes’. Which led to the theory that if her mouth was made for me, then so was the rest of her.

Mind. Body. Soul.

I peered out of the window into the rainy evening; the day’s brutal cold and sunshine had disappeared into a wet mist the further east I’d driven. It was the type of rain that soaked you quicker than a downpour, sticking to you like a second skin, but not hard enough to have the wipers turning on automatically.

I was debating on whether to move the car and drive down the route I knew she’d be taking to get here, so Ididn’t see her at first as she came around the corner, dressed all in black, wearing a heavy raincoat with her hood pulled up.

A loud snort of amusement escaped me; even if it hadn’t been raining, I could imagine her picking out this outfit for maximum inconspicuousness, because I knew this was her attempt to attract as little attention as possible. It was amusing, even if I also thought it was stupid and unnecessary.

As per her instructions, I’d found a spot to wait far enough away from Downing so that no one would see me, or us. I’d almost suggested meeting her at the boathouse, just for her reaction, but then thought better of it. Plus, she looked smoking hot in black, so I wasn’t about to complain she was the hottest double agent in existence.

I jumped out of the car, sprinting over to her with an umbrella in hand. Her green eyes flashed bright, briefly reminding me of an emerald necklace my mother owned.

‘Hey.’ Her breath trailed in the cold air, further illuminating the rain caught under the streetlamp we were standing by.

I wiped away the raindrop about to run down her nose. ‘Hey, get in the car. Do you want a towel?’

‘You have a towel?’ she blinked up at me.

‘Yes.’ I opened the passenger door and she hopped in as quickly as she could. By the time I’d got back into my seat, I was almost as soaked through as her, and I’d barely been exposed to it at all. It was times like this when my mother had a point basing herself in Greece most of the year.

I reached into the backseat and grabbed the towels I had piled up, passing one to her.

‘Thank you.’ She removed her hood and patted her face, wringing out the ends of her hair.

I turned the heat up, and flicked the switch for her seat to warm. ‘I should have come to meet you closer.’

‘Someone could have seen us.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Yanks, I’m not sure anyone would be out in this weather. And if they were, they’d only be looking at their feet.’

She peered over at me from under the towel, ‘Their feet?’

---