Page 53 of Big Nick Energy
‘Pretty…?’ I ask.
‘No, you’re pretty. You always were.’
‘I’ll take that compliment, kind sir,’ I say, beaming. ‘So maybe I am holding back from defining us or taking us too far into the future because I don’t want to get hurt like the first time,’ I say. I hope he reads the sincerity in that because there is truth there, there is uncertainty because of how it finished the first time. I mean, there is also another Nick but I won’t bring that up now.
‘I appreciate the honesty,’ Nick says dolefully. ‘And I am sorry that I ever hurt you, I really am. Like I say, I was young.’
‘We were young,’ I remind him. ‘You were kind of a first love.’
He looks a bit surprised at the revelation. ‘So I’m one of your all-time great loves then?’ he asks, smiling.
‘You are… something.’
‘Something.’ He says that word slowly, tenderly, still in that flirtatious manner that I’ve become accustomed to. And there is something there, I feel it now. That energy between us that’s heady and addictive and he leans over to kiss me tenderly. Did we resolve or define anything? Not really, but this is fun. With the blanket covering us though, Nick has other ideas of what that fun could look like. A hand that was on my thigh moves around the curve of my legs, fighting with the layers of my coat until he gets to the waistband of my trousers. He stops kissing me to hold my gaze.
‘You forget this boat is see-through…’ I whisper as his fingertips brush my stomach.
‘The blanket isn’t though,’ he says, softly into my ear. ‘Plus my hands are very cold.’
‘That’s what the hot-water bottle is for…’ I say, kissing him swiftly on the lips again.
‘Go on, it’s Christmas…’ he says, his lips searching out my neck. I look around. There are other boats bobbing about, the odd person on the wharf and docks. ‘I mean, this is fun. Giving you an orgasm right here, right now, could be very, very fun,’ he whispers.
I bite my lip and don’t stop him as his fingers reach over and under my waistband, sliding down under my knickers. The feeling is insanely electric as he looks me in the eye, my breath quickening to feel the softness of the contact, our faces barely touching. He was always good at this, even at university I was thankful someone had trained him up for me. No notes. ‘Do you like that?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I say, trying to summon up the words.
‘Tell me what you want,’ he whispers.
My mind wanders, smiling – whilst we’re still on the boat? People can see us, can’t they? But what he’s doing feels incredibly good and I crave him, a stirring delicious feeling soars through me. I want… But as I dare to say it, the boat jolts to a stop and a curtain is unzipped. Have we floated back to shore? To the docks? Shit. Does this thing have CCTV? I look around, and a man stands there in a woolly hat and fleece and looks at us both cosied up underneath that blanket.
‘Howdy folks… and welcome back to dry land. How was your ride?’ He knows, doesn’t he? It must be written all over the blush in my cheeks. Nick moves his fingers and I let out a little squeal.
‘Sooo festive and it’s lovely to be out on the water…’ I say, gesturing out towards the wharf in case he didn’t know there was water out there.
‘You’re lucky. Rained yesterday, proper wet one.’
Nick chokes on his own laughter and the man looks at him strangely. ‘Well, we’ll leave you docked here to finish yourfondue. Let us know if you want any more wine,’ he says before walking away.
‘You need to finish your fondue?’ Nick whispers.
‘Is that what the kids are calling it these days?’ I reply, before both of us descend into giggles, leaning back into our seats, his eyes full of joy and his face creasing with laughter, changing into a shape that I definitely, most certainly remember.
TWENTY-FOUR
‘So France is a yes which is amazing because the French are a difficult market. They want to change the titles about so we’re playing with rhymes but… You know what? No. I don’t want to talk about book shite, tell me about this Nick boy.’
I love how Davinia has pretended to call me and talk about my career as a children’s author when really all she has done is see a glimmer of a picture on an Instagram story and has rung to investigate.
‘It was a date.’ Where he fingered me next to a fondue, but I might leave that bit out for purposes of decency and to spin this into more of the romantic story that she’s expecting. I feel a little hot under the collar to remember it though, the urgency of the moment, the way we left that boat and kissed so passionately in the foyer of his building, in the lift, outside his front door, and translated that energy so perfectly into the sex that both of us were seeking.
‘I need more than that…’ she says.
‘He’s someone I dated at university and we’ve since reconnected and we’re having fun. That’s what you told me to do, yes?’
‘I did,’ she says, and I hear her satisfied smile on the other end of the phone. ‘I do like it when my clients listen to me. I’m full of excellent advice. Am I thinking it’s too soon to buy a hat?’
‘Yes. God.’ Because Davinia, you don’t know the half of this story. It’s somewhere between a fling and a dalliance with the past. All at once, I can get wrapped up in it and it makes me giggly and curious to see where it could go, what it could be, but then I’m taking this phone call standing outside the house of a man I’ve also been spending a lot of time with. And get this, Davinia – they’re both called Nick. Is there a children’s book in this?That’s Not My Nick? It could be one of those pull and reveal books – which one will she choose? ‘But thank you for that reminder that I needed to put myself out there. Turns out the universe did have plans.’
