Page 40 of The Winter of Second Chances
‘They’re beautiful,’ said Annie. ‘You’re an artist.’
Paul’s smile widened and he looked down at his plate.
‘I’d best get you drunk before you start finding flaws in my work,’ he said.
Annie laughed.
‘I didn’t have you down for modesty,’ she said.
‘First impressions can be deceiving,’ said Paul.
Annie had a warm feeling inside her that was more than weed and wine. The evening passed in a pleasant haze. The folk band played with the right amount of wistfulness and hope to fill the atmosphere with positively charged pheromones. The flames danced in the hearths and the regulars, merry with hooch and warm of feeling, danced on the flagstone floor. Annie danced with Paul, her bashfulness soon unwoven as the music plucked at the stitches that bound her. His arms felt nice wrapped around her, the heat from his palms splayed out across her back.
‘Thank you for a lovely tour,’ said Annie, as they meandered back through the quiet dark streets.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Paul.
The cold night nipped at Annie’s fingers but her body felt warm and the air between them was thick with expectation. They had reached the end of the path by which they must decide whether to continue the date, or end it on a delicious goodnight. Annie’s heart was racing. She wasn’t sure which outcome she was hoping for but she felt giddy with the excitement.
‘Would you like to come back for a coffee?’ Paul asked.
‘Yes,’ said Annie, and the decision was made.
Annie lay very still. She hoped Paul was still asleep. She had woken after a fitful snooze and lain awake thereafter, pondering as the black slash of night between the curtains was slowly diluted by the encroaching dawn.
The benefit of having sex with the same person for years, even when that person is a lying cheat, Annie thought, is that you are comfortable with each other’s bodies; you know theirs almost as well as your own. You know what they like and vice versa. More importantly, you both know what it takes to get the job done to both parties’ satisfaction; what it lacks in passion it gains in functionality. The grey morning light draped itself across the slow breathing mound beneath the black and white striped duvet cover. Annie tried to sigh quietly. Having sex with someone new was fraught with logistical dilemmas. You couldn’t anticipate which way they would lean, for example, or whether your hips would knock, or their chest would crush your ribs. It had been a somewhat disappointing experience.
There was more slapping of flesh than she remembered from her last sexual encounter; at times it sounded like a sea lion clapping. At one point their stomachs, wet with the sweat of exertion, had somehow suctioned together and then farted out a languorous raspberry as they parted. The sticky, ungainly parts of sex were funny with a partner who was as comfortable as an old slipper but far less so with a stranger. But it wasn’t even that which had been the problem. The spark that had fizzed wildly between them throughout their date had simply sputtered and died between the sheets. There was no gasping, other than when Paul had leaned on her hair and pinned her head to the bed. No mewling, like the women in sexy novels seemed to spend so much of their bedroom-time doing. Just the awkward sound of their laboured breathing and the wet slapping of their skin and the farting of their stomachs. She’d managed to cobble together an orgasm but she’d had to visualise Poldark really hard to get it. The biggest grunts of the whole affair came as the pair tried to disentangle themselves afterwards. With disappointment, Annie reconciled herself to the fact that she and Paul were sexually incompatible.
The mound in the bed snorted and stretched.
‘Are you awake?’ Paul asked.
‘Yes,’ said Annie.
Paul shifted. The light from his phone cast a beam across the ceiling.
‘What time is it?’ asked Annie.
‘Seven fifteen. Do you want some coffee?’
‘No, thanks.’
Silence blanketed the room. Annie wanted to get back to Saltwater Nook. She wanted to have a shower and brush her teeth. She hadn’t seriously considered that a sleepover might be on the cards and, as such, she hadn’t come prepared. She baulked at the idea of putting yesterday’s knickers back on and breathed shallow in hopes that her morning breath wouldn’t reach Paul’s side of the bed.
‘I’m going to go,’ said Annie. She sat up, twisting the duvet about her as she reached across the floor and raked her discarded clothes towards her. ‘I think the walk of shame is best done earlier rather than later.’
‘I can drive you,’ said Paul.
‘I’d like to walk,’ said Annie.
‘I’m sorry about last night,’ said Paul. ‘I don’t understand it, it was like...’ He trailed off.
‘The oomph was absent?’ Annie offered.
‘Exactly,’ said Paul. ‘We should have been great.’
‘We should have,’ said Annie.
