Happy Hour (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 20

A few years ago, I had an intense flirtation with a colleague. One of those will-they-won't-they, sexual-tension-off-the-charts, anticipation-building-by-the-day type situations that you watch in romcoms and just root for the pair involved to just bloody get their act together and kiss already.

When I finally kissed that guy it was . . . Terrible. It felt like it had been completely the wrong thing to do. I couldn't believe I'd been so excited for this to finally happen and then it was the stuff of nightmares. He knew it too.

My point here, I guess, is that high hopes don't always align with reality and so, while I've been desperate for Chris to kiss me again, having been burned in the past I'm fully aware it might not be as good as I expect.

And it's not.

Because it's actually incredible.

If I thought that tiniest brush of lip on lip all those years ago was possibly the best moment of my life, this kiss is completely submerging and drowning that memory. It starts off as chaste as that previous one, his hand still cupping my cheek as his mouth traces mine. A shaky breath escapes his mouth as he pulls back for the briefest of moments . . . Then he leans back in and takes control.

And my god, I've never been kissed like this before. He gently pulls on my bottom lip with his teeth and pulls me deeper into the kiss, his hands moving into my hair and tangling themselves up in it.

My hands involuntarily go up to that stubble I've been longing to touch since I first spotted him in the pub the previous week and then move around to the back of his neck. I'm guessing he must be as sensitive to my touch as I am to his, as I feel goosebumps form on his skin under my fingers, and the vibration of him groaning softly against my lips.

This feels right. It feels like it means something. It feels like I'm in my very own romcom. I hope the people watching are rooting for us as much as I am.

This does of course remind me though that we are in a public area and maybe people are watching. He seems to come to that same conclusion at the same time as me and he slows down, gently extracting himself from my lips and sitting back in his seat.

His eyes are drowsy and his full mouth looks slightly swollen. He drags his hand over his face. "God," he mumbles. He leans forward and whispers in my ear. "This is completely inappropriate but I'm so fucking hard right now."

A shocked bark of laughter escapes my mouth. The embarrassed blush spreading across his cheeks is adorable though as he laughs too.

The tension has been well and truly broken now.

We spend the rest of the evening sitting side by side, unable to resist touching or kissing as we chat and try to fill the gaps of time we missed. I think we've both decided that we'll not be going home together that night, however much we want to, so we stay until last orders, drinking each other in rather than any more booze.

This new version of Chris I'm experiencing is unbelievable. The easy smile, the undivided attention, the sweet unguarded expression in his eyes when he looks at me . . . When I compare him to the snarky guy who was verbally sparring with me across the bar less than a week ago, a clear challenge in his knowing eyes . . . He feels like a different person. It's amazing what a bit of honesty about feelings can do to someone. I don't want him to close up again. While I enjoyed being challenged by him, I prefer this guy. I want this truth-telling version.

If I'm being honest, I'm more than a little bit obsessed with him.

We do leave together in the end, as it turns out Chris doesn't live that far away from me so we can share a taxi.

He's not working tomorrow, he tells me, between kisses in the back of the cab. But he'll be there on Saturday. And will keep in touch before then, obviously.

He pulls away suddenly. "Actually it's just occurred to me I don't have your phone number!" He exclaims. He's right - all our contact has been through Instagram until now. I rhyme it off and he plugs it into his phone and calls me. I take my phone out of my bag so I can save it and spot a message from Paige.

"Shit," I mutter after reading it.

"What's up?" He asks, instantly on alert.

"I'm meant to be going to Glen Coe with my flatmate on Sunday for an overnight stay - a comped thing - but she's just got a last minute acting job and can't make it." I shrug. "It's not a massive deal but I don't particularly like doing these things myself."

He pauses. "I could come if you want," he says hesitantly. My heart skips a beat.

"You'd do that?"

"I'd love to." He smiles easily and I feel a warm glow fill me up inside. "It's school holidays anyway, I'm free."

"And you're not working in the bar Sunday?"

I see that brief flicker in his eyes, the one I've already came to suspect means he is hiding something, before he shakes his head. "Nope."

I don't push on that though. If he is free and happy to join me, I'm more than delighted to accept.

He asks the taxi driver to wait as the car pulls up in my street and walks me to my door. "Thanks for tonight," he says huskily. "I'm so glad my sister accidentally outed my Instagram account."

I'm smiling so hard my face hurts. "Me too."

He kisses me one more time, quick and hard, then backs away, his eyes bright. "I'll see you on Saturday," he grins, getting back into the taxi. I watch it pull away, my heart still pounding.

I know I'm in big trouble.