Matrimony Homies

22: Ice Cream (Harry)

Arriving at the venue, I have to pause a moment when I step out of the Range Rover. Holy fuck. Having seen her thighs while she was in the shower this morning, I tried to put the picture out of my mind of her moist body with water droplets trailing down those legs, and I might have been successful except –

She's wearing a denim mini-skirt. Her legs are bare all the way to her ankle socks and sneakers. My eyes had originally got stuck on her t-shirt which says 'FEMINISM, The Radical Notion that Women are People', especially since the outline of her white bra is clear under the white tee. But then she sat next to me, which caused that skirt to ride up on her thighs, causing me to spend the majority of our 40-minute drive avoiding looking in her direction, instead focusing on the road in front of me.

Loren, being the same kid with whom I grew up, doesn't care one iota that my attention is on her legs, and I feel confident she didn't intentionally wear the outfit to flaunt her assets. It's definitely got me twisted into knots though.

Suck it up. She's a friend. Be grateful.

And I am. Truly. Doesn't mean my trousers don't require a slight adjustment.

Approaching the castle, I recognise that this is the place. This is the venue. It's perfect. The outside is stunning. It's not far from Mum's. It's got gates out front that can be closed to visitors for the wedding weekend.

"It's perfect," Loren breathes, staring at the building. Taking a moment, I watch her as she twists her head in every direction, turning around a few times before she looks to me and swallows. "I mean, it seems perfect. But..."

"Well we haven't seen the inside," I logically remind her.

"True," she concurs, "plus we have four others to see this weekend."

"Shall we go in?" I gesture ahead of me, and she sets off for the building.

Our tour guide, Thom, is thrilled to meet us, even noting (out loud) that I resemble a "less dapper Harry Styles".

Loren covers her mouth and giggles. "It's the moustache, right? Without it, he'd be the spitting image of a pop star."

Thom, clearly going against the Bro Code, readily agrees, leaving me shaking my head in disappointment at the lack of respect from a fellow mate. Even though we're strangers, I thought men were supposed to stick together? Shaking off my disillusionment brought about by our guide, I let Loren take the lead through the tour. She has better questions than I would anyway.

Observing her, I spy minute expressions I haven't previously noticed. The curve of her lips when she knows the guide is embellishing. The way her long fingers are manicured even though the clipped nails aren't decorated with colour. How she pops her hip when she's tired of standing in one spot. That tongue darting out, just the tip, to dampen her lips. Her tilted head when she is listening to and considering the ideas being shared.

As we move from room to room, I watch her like a photographer would a model. Loren's legs, restricted by the mini-skirt, take quick, tiny steps. Her handbag shifts from one hand to another when she's bored and ready to move to the next space. She tucks her hair behind her ear, but only on the left side. And when she realises that she's done it, she slides her fingers under the hair to lift it away from the ear until it falls on her cheek again. Only she gets distracted soon enough, and the hair ends up resting behind the ear again, forming a slight curl. When she laughs at something Thom has said, she throws her entire head back, the sound being released to the high ceilings in the ancient castle, exposing her throat which just begs for the press of lips on her pulse. Her sneaker-clad feet barely make a sound on the stone floors. When she wants to ask a question, she bites her lip so as to not interrupt the guide.