Page 75 of The Worst Guy Ever
“Where do you keep your plates?”
I press against her back to pull one from the cupboard above her head. “What’s with the chicken?”
“I told Megan I was going to the gym after book club, but I haven’t eaten all day.” There’s a spiky feeling in my throat knowing she’s lied about where she is, and I swallow it down. I don’t know what I expected, of course she wouldn’t tell her friends about this dirty little secret of ours.
“This is just chicken and coleslaw.”
“This is the best dinner on the planet.”
“Your diet is atrocious, you know that?” I lift her cap off and sweep the hair from her neck to one side. I know we haven’t discussed her rules or set any boundaries yet, so don’t know if I can do this, but wild horses couldn’t stop me from kissing the slope of her shoulder, that spot where it meets her neck and makes her moan.
“Christ, you do my head in,” she says, but her body betrays her, perfect ass pressing back against my groin. “I don’t know whether to punch your dick or suck it.”
“Can I express a preference?” I grip her hips and pull her back, then slide my hands up underneath her clothes, desperately seeking bare skin. She makes a pathetic attempt to push me away, but when I suck her earlobe and roll her nipples into tight peaks her resistance falters.
“I need to eat,” she moans.
Spinning her around, I lift her into my arms and head for the stairs. “So do I.”
“Your place is not what I expected,” she says after we’ve had our fill of each other. The bed is a wreck, sheets pinged off from two corners, a well fisted pillow mauled loose from the cover. Her body is settled between my legs, head resting on my chest, fingertips skating up and down my side.
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Bachelor pad. Worn carpet, ancient sofa. Mug rings on the coffee table. New York skyline on the wall. Navy sheets and one thin, grotty pillow.”
“This is telling me so much about the men you sleep with. You’ve been in here before, remember?”
“I know, but I wasn’t in my right mind then. It’s so sparse,” she says, lifting her head to look around my bedroom. “You don’t have a single candle in here.”
“My mum is a bit of a hoarder.”
“Oh.” She drops her head back to my chest but everything else tenses and I wonder what’s behind it. Having her this close is new. She so rarely lets her guard down, and I’m acutely aware that she could bolt at any second. Pushing her is the worst thing I could do, so I do the opposite and let her in further.
“Growing up with so much clutter made me want to keep things minimal. It’s less stressful, saves a lot of time cleaning, better for my brain.”
“I can relate to that.”
“You can?” I brush her jaw with my thumb and she softens a little more.
“My mum had this one boyfriend who stepped on some Lego while we were at school. By the time we got home he’d binned it all. Mum acted like that was a normal thing to do. I think it rewired my brain, ever since then I haven’t really cared about possessions.”
“Except candles, apparently?”
“Candles are a vibe.”
“You can buy me one,” I say, and she groans in revolt and pulls away. Bonding time is over. I roll her onto her back and shift down the bed to scatter kisses along her collarbone. “You stay here. I’ll get you some dinner.”
I pull on fresh boxers and make my way downstairs to scope out Hattie’s version of a food shop. Chicken and coleslaw for dinner, the absolute state of it. Between work and the gym, she’s always on the go, she can’t be living on coffee all day and eating like this. She needs a balanced meal, more nutrients.
I toss spices into a pan with a squeeze of tomato puree, and once the toasted aroma fills the air I add a can of mixed beans and stir it all together. While it heats, I shred chicken and add it to the pan, along with a handful of spinach and some fresh lime juice. I plate up two bowls, top with a dollop of sour cream, and carry them upstairs.
Hattie is sitting up in my bed, t-shirt on, covers back in order. Arms folded across her chest, that familiar scowl back on her face. I’ve fucked up, and I’ve no idea how.
“What’s the matter?” I set her bowl down on the bedside table.
“Have you got a girlfriend?”
“No.”
