Page 108 of You Float My Boat

I was.

Violet had looked nothing short of spectacular. I mean, every time I saw her she looked beautiful, but tonight my mouth had dried up.

Just like the day she’d walked into the pub, I hadn’t known where to look. I was also seriously considering making an eye appointment because I couldn’t understand how I’d possibly missed her andthat body. Her dark-green dress had wrapped around her like a bandage, stretching across every curve she had and ones I didn’t even know existed, with heels so high they almost brought her up to my height. Her thick blonde, violet-tipped curls tumbled across her shoulders and down her back, and all I’d wanted to do was wrap them around my fist.

I mean, I’d had my hands on her. I wasn’t a complete stranger to how perfect Violet’s body was, but that dress … it should have been illegal.

I’d taken her to The Snail – a minuscule French bistro just outside the city centre, owned by a friend of my father’s. Only six tables, I figured it was unlikely we’d bump into anyone we knew. I knew we could still get away with the pretence of fake dating, but until I told Brooks, a date on the most romantic night of the year with his sister was probably best kept on the D/L.

Which brings me to my problem.

The most romantic night of the year. The one day of the year dedicated to love. Or sex. Or both.

It had been a while since I’d celebrated Valentine’s Day. The only other time had been with Evie, and because that particular year the day had fallen on a Tuesday we’d celebrated the weekend after, when all the hearts and flowers had been taken down. And the Valentine’s cards had been replaced by Easter ones.

The point … on that Saturday after Valentine’s Day,when I’d been sixteen, I’d completely bypassed the pressure. There had been none where now I wish I’d had some. Some idea of what I was doing, that Valentine’s Day istheday.The Day.

Because the pressure … my god. The pressure is monumental. I’d competed in the last three Boat Races, the rowing world championships, Henley Regatta to name a few, yet the pressure of Valentine’s Day is unmatched.

Like I said, I did not think this through.

It’s what happens when you swear off love and refuse to have anything to do with girls. And it’s been … let’s just say … some time since you last had sex.

You forget.

Up to twenty minutes ago, I had never choked in my life. But now I could add it to my list of things I’d overachieved in.

Because I’d forgotten aboutthe pressure. I’d had no expectations of tonight, not a single one. Until she opened the door.

Now, I’m not going to lie and say I haven’t thought about sex and Violet. SexwithViolet.

Of course I have. I’m a red-blooded twenty-one-year-old man.

But the second I laid eyes on her, all I wanted to do was drag her straight back in, lock the door behind me, and only come up for air and snacks.

Instead, we’d gone for dinner. With that dress. The Valentine’s Day dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and no doubt as to why it was being worn. It was possible that Violet had been thinking about sex as much as I had.

You know when you really don’t want to think about something then it becomes all you think about?

Well, that’s where I was up to.

That dress and sex with Violet. That dress and her expectations.

In hindsight, we should have talked about it sooner. But I’d wanted to be respectful. Because Violet is special. I wanted to let us develop at a pace she was comfortable with, thatwewere comfortable with. But based on her wardrobe choices tonight, she was right there waving the chequered flag. She was very comfortable.

And I’dchoked.Full on in-need-of-a-Heimlich choked.

I’d stopped talking five minutes before we reached St Anne’s. With all the voices going round in my head, shouting over each other, it was virtually impossible to form a coherent sentence. By the time we reached Violet’s room, I hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

I became so paranoid about what I’d missed that I figured it was best to cut my losses and leave with what little dignity I had left, and hopes of salvaging it in the morning. As she’d gazed at me, her blue eyes filled with expectation, the scent of her hot, excited body shot an arrow directly into my frontal cortex. She’d been given nothing more than a quick peck on the lips before I’d taken off.

I’d been mentally plotting my apology before I’d even left the building. Violet was too special to have been left on the doorstep. Maybe I needed to take a page out of Oz’s book and send her some apology flowers, or whatever it was he’d done.

The thoughts were still going round and round inmy head when I turned down Tolkien Lane, and up the path to number 5. The house was eerily quiet when I opened the front door. Quiet and dark. Too dark for anyone to be here, given they usually lit the place up like it was a football pitch. I guess it was still only nine, but I figured one of the boys would be home, especially as we had to be awake for training in seven hours.

‘Brooks? Oz?’

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