Half of me was fantasising about the idea of Joe just throwing me, caveman style, on that pool table and having his wicked way with me, while the other half was already realising how hard it could be to get over him if that did happen.
Maybe the mom...
I can't help but take a moment to appraise Joe as I turn from the fridge to see him scrolling through my phone. A frown is slightly marring his handsome features, his glasses sliding down his long, straight nose. Broody is yet another good look on him. I stifle a sigh.
"Chocolate?" I offer, breaking off a piece of Milka and slipping it into my own mouth. He glances up, his eyes lingering on my lips, and then smiles and stands. The opening notes of what I think is "Rush Rush" by Paula Abdul (classic ballad) are drifting out of my phone, which he leaves on my bed as he walks towards me. He takes a square of chocolate himself, then holds out his hand.
"Dance with me?" he asks quietly. Slightly shyly, even. Intense green eyes are burning into mine and, as cheesy a move as it seems to be, I can't resist letting him pull me towards him, his warm arms wrapping around me. I hold him too, and rest my head against him, feeling his heart beating as we sway, somewhat self-consciously, along with the music. My breath quickens at the closeness, the intimacy, of this act.
I'm going to miss this guy so bloody much.
He pulls back after a moment so he can examine my face. "You okay?" he asks softly. His gaze is serious, as if he's searching my thoughts somehow. Maybe his book was based on reality after all and he can read minds? I don't think I want him to know what I'm thinking though; he'd probably run a mile.
I force a smile when really I feel more like crying. "Just can't believe we're going home tomorrow," I reply. "Time flies when you're having fun."
Joe nods. "That's true." He bends slightly to study my shoulder; it's exposed due to my dress having a bardot neckline. "I think something has bitten you," he remarks, touching the skin lightly with one finger.
"I'm a mosquito magnet," I explain, my voice catching. "I'm actually amazed I don't have more bites than that. They usually form a committee to welcome me off a flight."
He chuckles then presses his mouth carefully against my shoulder, the briefest of kisses. The tenderness of the gesture shoots arrows of lust straight down between my legs and I can't help the sigh that escapes my mouth. His eyes narrow thoughtfully as they return to my face. It's hard to decipher his expression. I wonder if he's okay.
Before I can consider this further, his lips find mine and all doubts fly out of my head. It's so gentle; no urgency at all, his tongue stroking mine, tasting of chocolate and alcohol. It makes my whole body ache for him. One hand moves to the back of my neck so he can manoeuvre my face closer to his, while the other remains on my back, his hand burning into the skin there as if branding me.
In this moment I realise something with absolute certainty, and it terrifies me.
In the space of four days Ihave somehow fallen completely in love with Joe Quinn.
For fucks sake, Sienna. You've really gone and done it this time haven't you?
This isn't just a holiday fling for me. This is it. He's the one.
And I couldn't feel more helpless and hopeless about it when he's made it clear that he doesn't want a relationship. With me or anyone else.
This realisation, quite frankly, is the last thing I wanted. Although fairly typical of my life, admittedly.
I rally though. I don't want to put any sort of downer on our last night together. Instead I channel my feelings, pretend to myself he feels the same, and lean right into the act.
Ramp up the passion level in the kissing. Steer us towards the bed, pushing him down onto it, unbuttoning his shirt, running my hands over his chest and abs, stroking my way along the trail of hair leading down below the waistband of his jeans until he gasps and rolls me over onto my back, his eyes dark with desire.
He stands briefly to remove his shirt fully, pull his jeans and boxers off, tossing his glasses to one side, before he helps me with my clothes, his hands and lips roaming everywhere in the process. It's like a switch has flipped and he's like a man possessed all of a sudden. And he's acting exactly how I need him to act, which makes it easier for me to pretend this is for real on both sides.
There's still music playing but I have no idea if I even recognise the songs, all I can feel is him, thrusting into me, biting my neck, toying with me with his fingers . . . My senses are completely taken up by Joe and nothing else. In that space of time, I couldn't care less about anything else.
Afterwards, he kisses me slowly again and lies down beside me, stroking my stomach as he drifts off to sleep. I find myself wide awake, my eyes wet, wishing things could be different.
Once I'm sure he's definitely unconscious, I slip out of his arms and pull my pyjamas on. I still have some packing to do so I may as well distract myself with that. I also find the tiny purse I keep my Euros in, and transfer the currency into my normal purse, which is always full to the brim with too many random membership cards, old photos and usually too many coins. One time I even got stopped at security because of how much my purse was bulging in my bag. I learned my lesson after that.
Now that I'm thinking about it, I should really give my Euros to Joe; he has paid for most things for us this trip and it's really not fair. I'll speak to him about it in the morning. Sadness overwhelms me again.
Still unable to find sleep, I sit on the balcony with the remainder of the prosecco bottle. I close my eyes and curse my stupid heart for falling for someone who doesn't feel the same.
Sure, Joe likes me, and fancies me. I've let my guard down around him, allowed him to witness my silly side, my vulnerable corners, the random thoughts I sometimes can't help but voice aloud. But he's only experienced a snapshot of what being with me is like. He'd be bored of me in no time, like Greg was, like previous boyfriends before him have been. The novelty value always wears off quickly, just like the sheen of a holiday does.
And let's circle back, for the seven millionth time, to the fact that he doesn't want to be in a relationship.
I sigh, rub my eyes and go back inside. My phone stopped playing music a long time ago and I pick it up, double-taking as I see Greg's name on my screen. What the fuck?
I briefly wonder if Joe saw the message from him, remembering that frown on his face just before he asked me to dance. Not that it really matters. I'm not getting back with Greg. I've no interest in talking to him either. That ship sailed when I realised he was cheating on me; I was never going back there anyway. And he might miss me, but I sure as hell don't miss him now.
He doesn't have the ability to break me anymore. That honour belongs to someone else now.
My gaze drifts over to Joe, snoozing so peacefully on my bed; so completely unaware that he's about to shatter my already fragile heart into pieces.
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I really love this scene; it's probably one of my favourites . . . Despite it ending with Sienna convinced that Joe's going to break her heart. 💔
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