Our relationship had an intense beginning, full of heavy flirting and possibility, until the realities of existing relationships came crashing in to spoil the party. Now, over a year after we first met, we're both in different places. I've been separated from my wife since shortly after lockdown was lifted and your relationship ended a while ago. We're closer friends than ever, and since I've had my own place you've been coming over a couple of times a month to get high, cuddle up and watch movies. When you finally caved after months of asking and came over for the first time, I know you didn't fully trust me. But, with each movie night we had, you became more and more comfortable around me; eventually staying in my spare room and having breakfast with me before leaving a few times. It was always a weird experience. I love your company and your friendship, but the want I've had inside me since we first met is still there. It's less intense now, sure, but it hasn't gone away. Having you cuddled into me while I stroke your hair is like a sweet torture. I wouldn't give it up, but it does nothing to lessen the desire to have you that still burns inside. And since you've been single, I haven't stopped thinking about asking you out. You've been over twice since you broke up. Once was quite soon afterwards and we talked into the early hours, holding you when you cried. My heart broke for you, and all I wanted was to look after you and make you happy again. The second time you came over, you were more yourself although you were obviously still upset and again, I felt the need to baby you.
Weeks later, you're much better. Not over him, but in a place where you've started flirting with me more again and allowing your brat to come back out a little. It's been months since I've seen that side of you and I've missed it. One evening, I decide it's time to take a chance and send you a message. Instead of coming to mine for movies this week, do you fancy going out for dinner and staying in an Airbnb? Same rules as at mine apply - I won't do anything, separate bedrooms, blah, blah, blah. I send it. Now I'm allowed to ask you, I'm going to - I've been dreaming of taking you out for so long, I'd be an idiot if I didn't. I stare at my phone. The message has been delivered. The little ticks turn blue. I watch the screen for a second, holding my breath. Typing... I look at the word under your name with butterflies in my stomach. I can't believe I'm this nervous. I can feel my palms becoming slick with sweat as I watch your status flick from Online to Typing... and back again. It's taking too long. I asked too soon didn't I, I just couldn't be patient, I had to jump the gun. Fuck, now you're going to let me down gently and not want to come over either. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
As I'm berating myself, my phone softly buzzes in my palm. I unlock it and bite the inside of my cheek as I wait for it to open.
"Sounds good! Where are you thinking?"
I read and then re-read that sentence six or seven times until it slowly sinks in. You said yes. Holy fuck, you said yes! My heart leaps and a million scenarios flood my mind as I type a reply "The city, that Brazilian place?" While I wait for a reply, I open the Airbnb app and put the dates in. I scroll through the options and pick a place just as your reply arrives. You seem happy with my choice of restaurant, and we arrange to meet for cocktails after work on Friday before going to eat. You pop over on Thursday evening for a few minutes to drop off an overnight bag for me to take with me, but much to my dismay, you don't hang around.
Friday finally arrives and time seems to pass more slowly than it should. I'm going out of my head. We keep messaging each other, flirting more and more as the day wears on. My imagination is running rampant with possibilities for tonight, and I remind myself over and over that I'm under house rules and I'm not allowed to touch you. The bratty tone of your messages makes me wonder what if, but I quickly slap the thought away before it consumes me and I lose my control before we even meet. Finally, 3pm rolls around and I leave. I drive into the city and check into the apartment. Instead of one of the basic apartments I would normally choose for a night out, I'd pushed the boat out a bit and booked a penthouse apartment with a private terrace. I blamed the high I was on when you said yes. I let myself into the building with a keycode and retrieved the key from a lockbox with another. I get into the large lift, swipe the fob to unlock the controls and hit the button for the top floor. I check myself in the mirror as the lift starts with a gentle jolt. Since separation, I'd lost weight and given up cigarettes with your encouragement, and I was feeling healthier than I had in years. I grin at myself as the doors slide open behind me, opening onto a small foyer with a small sofa against the far wall and a single front door on either side. I double check the number on the key, open the door and let myself in.
The penthouse is lush, more luxury hotel than Airbnb. The lounge and kitchen are open plan, separated from the terrace by floor to ceiling windows to give the best of the view over the city. Right now, it all looks a bit drab and grey, but I know when it gets dark and the buildings start lighting up the view will be pretty cool. I drop the bags and wander through the lounge. There's a a full bar, a huge open fireplace surrounded by plush sofas, a full sound system throughout the entire place; and as I open the door to the terrace and step out, I realise that what I took as trees and bushes to make the space greener is actually a windbreak hiding a hot tub bubbling away atop a raised platform overlooking the city. I have the sudden thought that I might have overdone it. Fuck it, it's too late now.
I grab our bags on the way back through the lounge and go down a short corridor, pushing doors open as I go. First is the bathroom, with a huge whirlpool bath. Next is the guest room; your room. I drop your bag on the king size bed. It's a pretty large room, a huge painting taking up most of one wall and more floor to ceiling windows overlooking the terrace. I turn and push open the last door. It's the master bedroom, and it's almost as big as the lounge. I turn to the right towards the enormous bed against one wall; modern looking nightstands on either side complete with phone charging points, bottles of water and sleep masks.
There's another huge painting taking up most of the wall above the bed, but the wall opposite is almost entirely mirror. It makes the room feel even bigger. I throw my bag onto the bed and walk to the huge windows, where there are more doors leading to the terrace. I open them, letting some fresh air blow through. Turning around, I walk to the other end of the room and into a small dressing room, leading to the en-suite; another over-sized room with an enormous monsoon shower over a drain in the middle of it. No screens, just minimal modern design. It looks cool as fuck. I put my things away in the dressing room and go back to the kitchen to roll a few joints for later to kill some time. Once I'm done, I mix myself a drink at the bar and then wander out to sit on the terrace. As I smoke and drink, I glance at my watch. Only a couple of hours left to wait. A wave of nerves crashes over me. God, I hope I don't fuck this up. The remainder of my joint helps calm the thoughts.
I finish up and go back into the bedroom, stripping off en-route to the en-suite, and take my time showering completely enveloped in a blanket of water. I shave and trim everything, just in case. Once I'm satisfied, I start going through my rituals in front of the mirror. As I do, my phone pings. I glance at it. It's a message from you to say you're about to leave. I text you back the directions to and entrance code for the car park, then finish up what I'm doing. I go and get dressed, putting on jeans, shoes, a shirt and jacket. I check myself in the mirror. I look tired, but I'd fuck me. I nod and tell myself tonight is going to be a good night. I mix another drink and stand out in the fresh air drinking it, watching the growing twinkling of headlights in the distance as the sun drops below the horizon. I idly wonder if one of the twinkles is you and my mind flits to what you might be wearing. It's supposed to be a relaxed night, so I mentally bet myself you'll be in a casual summer dress with sneakers on, looking beautiful.
I glance at my watch for the thousandth time and suddenly I only have 15 minutes before we're due to meet. More nerves flush through me. We'd arranged to meet in the building's Champagne Bar, handily on the same floor as the penthouse. I grabbed my wallet and the keys, and locked the door behind me. Walking back into the lift foyer, I see a door set in the wall behind the lift that I hadn't noticed when I arrived. I push through it and walk along a short corridor to another door and another foyer outside the bar and restaurant. I go into the bar and order myself a drink. It's pretty quiet this early in the evening, and I easily get a booth overlooking the city and sit awaiting your arrival. I get a text a few minutes later to say you've parked. I drain my drink and drop my glass back on the bar, turning towards the foyer just as the lift door slides open and you step out. I see immediately that I'd lost my bet. I'd got your outfit entirely wrong. Well, I was right about one thing... you look utterly beautiful.
You're wearing an off the shoulder black dress, so tight it looks like a liquid coating your skin; a simple gold pendant around your slender throat; and dark red lipstick to match the heels you're wearing. I can feel my jaw dropping as you spot me and wave, a huge grin spreading across your gorgeous face. I wave and grin back, walking to meet you. We briefly hug and I breathe you in deeply; your perfume mixing with your natural scent intoxicates me, and for a brief second I think about forgetting dinner and taking you back to the room to tear you apart. I let you fall to arms length before I can think about it too hard and look at you. Your eyes pull me in, as always, and I fall momentarily under your spell until you look away.
"You look stunning," I say.
You roll your eyes, but you're smiling as I put my hand on the small of your back and guide you back to the booth I waited in. I go and get drinks and we chat and gently flirt until the Uber arrives to take us to the restaurant. Sat in the back of the car, I reach across and hold your hand in your lap. Your slender fingers run over the backs of my hand, the way you've done almost since we met. It feels comforting, calming, and I run my fingers over your wrist, tracing the bones just below the skin. We stay like that, in happy silence, until we pull up outside the restaurant. Thanking the driver, we get out and go in to enjoy dinner.
