Blowing It (5 page)

CHAPTER SIX

The evening flew by. Drinks flowed, songs were sung,
the table next to us ended up unofficially joining our party, then we merged with
the one next, joining forces against those opposite as we got sucked into a
good-natured karaoke sing-off. Elaine talked Ryan into accompanying her for a
terrible rendition of “Paradise by the Dashboard Lights,” then some bastard put
me down for “Love Shack,” and when the emcee wouldn’t let me out of it, I
insisted Ryan join me on the mic. By the time the bell rang for last orders, my
cheeks were aching from laughing, and I was more than a little tipsy.

“Good luck getting this one home,” Ryan said to Magnus
as we rose to leave.

“I am
not
drunk!” I protested. “Seriously.”
I turned to Magnus. “The walk to the tube station will sober me up.”

“I’m not worried,” Magnus said, holding my jacket
for me to slip on.

We parted from the others at the corner of the street.
Ryan and Sameer only lived a couple of roads away, and Sameer had offered
Elaine and Mark a lift home. I waved away his invitation to run us to the tube,
the station only being a short walk from the pub. Pulling my jacket around my
waist to ward off the cool night air, I led the way.

“That was fun,” Magnus said once we were on the
platform, waiting for the last train. We had the station to ourselves, and the
overhead electronic display said the train would be another seven minutes.

I took a seat on one of the station benches under a
scallop-edged, open-sided shelter. Although part of the tube network, the
station was aboveground. A brisk breeze blew over the uncovered platform,
making me shiver. I perched my arse on the edge of the cold metal so I wouldn’t
get piles. It was probably an old wives’ tale, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

Magnus stood before me, blocking the worst of the
wind. I smiled up at him.

“Cold?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You should have worn a heavier jacket.”

I feigned outrage. “And ruin this outfit?”

He laughed easily. “Point taken.”

The train was as empty as the station. We sat
side-by-side on a long seat near the door, and I settled in for the half-hour
journey to Mile End. Magnus put his arm around my shoulder, and I snuggled into
his side. He was warm and solid, and I inhaled his scent: fabric softener and
shower gel and the same sandalwood cologne he’d worn on our first date.

Despite the bad start, the evening had gone
wonderfully and, as the train clattered along the tracks, wheezing into
stations with a squeal of brakes and an asthmatic hiss from the automatic
doors, I didn’t want it to end.

At Mile End we changed to the Central Line. My
station was the next stop, whereas Magnus would need to stay on all the way to
Tottenham Court Road, then change to the Northern Line for Archway, adding an
extra half-hour to his journey. A dull roar in the black distance beyond the
platform heralded the incoming train. I had less than a minute in which to make
a decision.

The train burst through the tunnel, preceded by a
blast of warm air. I’d always found it funny, the way the Underground seemed to
have its own weather system. There was something dramatic about the way the
trains emerged from the surrounding darkness of the tunnels, the stations existing
as little islands of life and light, making sense of the labyrinth of the city
below street level. The Underground map looked so neat and orderly, like a
model of the brain with all the hemispheres and lobes labelled, conspiring to
make us believe we understood the world better than we truly did. Scratch the
surface, and all was chaos: a trip on the tube was an archaeological dig
through plague pits and air raid shelters and even an old aircraft factory.

“Fancy a nightcap?” I asked once we’d boarded.

“I’ll miss my last train.”

“So?”

Magnus glanced at me. “You’re not too drunk?”

I waved away his concerns. Any tipsiness I’d felt
at The Drake had long since evaporated into the night. “It takes more than a
few rum and Cokes to get me drunk.”

Magnus’s grin turned feral. “Then I’d love one.”

҉҉҉

My building was on the corner of Bethnal Green Road,
a couple of minutes’ walk from the tube station. Modern steel and glass rising
from the older brick of the original construction, a dozen storeys higher than
the surrounding buildings, it didn’t strike me as a particularly attractive or
brilliant piece of architecture. It stood out like a great, boxy carbuncle, nothing
about it seemingly sympathetic to the area at large. Then again, this was
London, the city streets typified by the juxtaposition of old and new.

The doorman nodded to us as we crossed the foyer,
all dark wood and white leather furniture, past the curved, stainless steel
desk behind which he spent his shift. We took the lift to the seventh floor,
and I opened the door to my flat, belatedly remembering the mess I’d left in
the bedroom in my rush to get out.

Magnus made an impressed sound as I led him into
the open-plan living room-cum-kitchen. The room stretched the length of the
flat, from the front door to the French windows leading out onto a small
balcony. I’d left the curtains open, and the City shone in the distance, the
curved shape of the Gherkin illuminated by the office lights left on inside.

My kitchen was small, finished in high-gloss white
with stainless steel fixtures, the living room dominated by a black
entertainment centre which filled the left-hand wall, my TV housed in the
centre, surrounded by shelves groaning with books. An oversized grey sofa,
large enough to seat six comfortably, was pushed against the opposite wall, a
glass coffee table standing on a matching grey rug before it. I cleared a
couple of dirty dishes from the counter as Magnus strode over to the French
doors to look out.

“Very nice,” he said.

“I like it,” I said demurely. “I’m pretty much
guaranteed not to get burgled, at least.” Having lived in London for a decade,
that had been high on my list of priorities.

Magnus turned to me and smiled. “There is that.”

“There’s a gym on the top floor,” I continued,
taking a pair of glasses out of a cupboard and setting them on the small
breakfast bar which jutted from the wall, creating a divide between the kitchen
and lounge. “Not that I ever use it.” I’d been twice since I’d moved in, full
of good intentions which had long since fallen by the wayside.

“You don’t need to,” Magnus said, crossing the room
in half a dozen strides and coming to a stop on the other side of the breakfast
bar.

“What are you drinking?” I asked, opening more
cupboards. “I’ve got vodka, rum, Baileys…?” I shuffled bottles around. “On
second thoughts, scratch the Baileys. God knows how long that’s been there.”

“Water’s fine.”

“You’re sure?” I straightened.

Magnus nodded.

I filled a tumbler from the sink, apologising for
the lack of bottled water. Magnus waved away my worries and took a long
mouthful. I watched his Adam’s apple move in his neck as he swallowed.

Silence settled around us, and I found myself
fidgeting. Deliberately, I forced myself to stop. Magnus placed his glass on
the counter. “Can I use your bathroom?”

I pointed across the hall to the door opposite,
grateful that room, at least, was clean. The moment he entered, I darted into
my bedroom and began frantically stuffing clothes into my wardrobe. A quick tug
of the duvet, and the bed was passable.

The toilet flushed as I was shoving the last pair
of shoes under my bed, and I darted back into the hall, almost bumping into him
as he exited the bathroom. We made small, started sounds, then laughed. He
caught my arm, and I didn’t pull away.

The kiss we shared was tentative, more exploration
than anything. His beard was scratchy, his mouth cool from the water I’d given
him; the sensation surprised me when our tongues touched. I pushed deeper into
his mouth, clinging to the soft lapels of his moleskin jacket for leverage. He
opened for me, and I pulled him closer, gratified to feel his arms slide around
my waist and hold on tight.

“Why don’t I show you my bedroom?” I suggested,
whispering the words against his lips.

He made a small sound of assent.

I took his hand and led him into my room. He might
work in an office, but they felt like labourer’s hands, all big and rough.

The bedroom had been a dull, uniform white when I’d
bought the flat. I understood enough about interior design to know it was
supposed to make the space seem larger, but to my eye it only made it seem
cold. I’d roped Ryan and Sameer into helping me redecorate, painting the wall
behind the bed a startling pillar box red. I smiled as I looked at it,
remembering how much fun we’d had that day despite the struggles getting all my
furniture to fit, lugging boxes of books into the lift and along the corridor,
eating takeaway with plastic cutlery on the floor in the lounge. Not even the
uneven cutting in annoyed me, although I suspected, had Magnus been overseeing
the job, he’d have declared it woefully inadequate.

The furniture was black, the rest of the walls
white. My bedding was black and white to match, a canvas print of Tower Bridge
over the bed, framed posters of my favourite book covers hung in a neat line on
the wall opposite. Magnus saw them and dropped my hand to take a closer look.

I hovered at his side, waiting in silence for him
to pass judgment. There was Renault’s
The Charioteer
, Capote’s
Other
Voices, Other Rooms
, Leavitt’s
While England Sleeps
, Baldwin’s
Giovanni’s
Room,
and Tóibín’s
The Story of the Night.
A study on a very
particular theme. There was a reason the prints were in my bedroom, not on
display for all to see in the lounge.

“I loved this book,” Magnus said, touching the
frame of
The Charioteer
. “Although I prefer this cover.” He indicated Tóibín.
“Are they here purely for art’s sake, or because they mean something?”

“They’re inspiration,” I said. It was true. I’d often
dreamed of my name being lofty enough to speak in the same sentence as those
authors; one of my covers worthy to hang alongside theirs.

“You pick good muses.” Magnus smiled.

“I love that you recognise them,” I said without
thinking.

He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t normally date
literary types?”

I scoffed. “I don’t normally date.”

“So what changed your mind? Why am I here?”

I scuffed the cream carpet with the toe of my boot.
“I like you,” I said softly. “You seem trustworthy.”

“That’s important to you?” he asked. “You need
somebody you can trust?”

“Doesn’t everybody?” I shrugged off his
questioning, which was getting entirely too personal for my liking. Spilling my
guts wasn’t how I had envisioned the evening ending.

Magnus gave me a look which said he knew exactly
what I was doing, and next time, I wouldn’t get away with it. This time,
however, he let the matter drop.

I stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and now there was no
slow exploration, no hesitancy. He took me in his arms and walked me backwards
until my calves touched the bed. I unfastened the buttons of his shirt as he
shrugged off his coat and let it fall to the floor at our feet. The dark hairs
covering his chest reached almost to his collarbone, and I ran my hands over
them, enjoying the sensation. My body was practically boyish in comparison,
skinny and largely hairless. I did so like having thick, solid bulk under my
hands. The contrast excited me.

I pushed his shirt down his arms, and he shook it
free, letting it drop on top of his coat. His chest rose and fell but he didn’t
reach for me, content to let me touch him at my own pace. I slid my palms down
his flanks and tickled his waist to see it convulse as he laughed, confirming
my suspicions he’d been sucking his stomach in. I liked the little sign of
insecurity, the way he tried to make himself seem more attractive for me. It
wasn’t necessary, but it was sweet nonetheless.

“You bastard,” he growled, seizing my hands and
plundering my mouth though my giggles. “How do you like it?”

I squealed as he tickled me, wriggling free of his
grasp and falling onto the bed. No sooner had I landed than he was on top of
me, his weight supported on his arms so I wasn’t crushed as we kissed again,
and I curled my arms and legs around his broad, strong body.

“How does this come off?” Magnus demanded, tugging
at the hem of my top.

“You have to move,” I said with a smirk, which
turned to an outright smile as he grumbled and climbed off.

I sat up, quickly removed my jacket, and whisked
the top over my head. Now it was my turn to suck in my breath, trying to
tighten the small rolls of loose skin around my stomach. Standing, my belly was
flat, but sitting I was conscious of how untoned I was. I really should use my
building’s gym.

Magnus’s eyes darkened as he looked at me, and I
didn’t see anything other than unabashed appreciation on his face. Setting my
insecurities—which were, admittedly, minor—aside, I hooked my fingers through
the belt loops of his jeans and used my leverage to pull him closer. His
stomach was on level with my mouth, which seemed too good a coincidence to let
pass. I kissed his warm, soft flesh, scraping my chin through the soft trail of
longer hairs which marched down his torso and into his waistband.

He cupped my head, digging his fingers into my
hair, and I raised my eyes to look at him as I licked his skin. Then I was
unfastening his jeans, lowering the zipper, and running an appreciative hand
over what I found inside. He was already more than half-hard, and I squeezed
decent length and a pair of big, full balls through the thin cotton of his
underwear.

I seized his waistband and dragged jeans and
underwear down his thighs in one swift movement. His cock swung free, swaying
gently in my direction, rising from a neat bush of dark brown hair. The red
head glistened from inside his half-retracted foreskin, and I swiped my thumb
over the tip to the sound of an appreciative rumble.