A Risky Business #SYTYCW15 #CarinaPress

Chapter Eight

Another morning after the night before - and a proposition ...

*Kate*

Being the only sober one in the house, I woke reasonably early and thought I might as well make the most of the peace and quiet while my resident drunkards continued to sleep off their respective hangovers.

I showered, got dressed and made my way downstairs to have some breakfast and read the papers. Maybe it was the smell of the coffee that had roused him, but before I knew it Damien was beside me. Still not fully clothed, but at least this morning he had managed to pull on a pair of tracksuit bottoms.

"What on earth are you doing up this early? I thought it would be hours before either of you two showed your faces. Coffee?"

"Yes please." He leant on the doorframe watching me moving about the kitchen. He was making me feel uncomfortable, I think both because I could feel his eyes boring into me, and because I was acutely aware of his bare, beautiful torso.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you," he said, his eyes suddenly fixed firmly to the kitchen floor.

That sounded ominous. Damien's not really one for small talk. Maybe he was going to tell me he was moving out. Although, now that I was actually faced with the prospect, I realised that perhaps I didn't really want him to go.

"Okay," I said warily.

"Well, to be honest I wanted to apologise," he continued.

This I had to hear.

"Oh, right, well in that case we'd better go next door and sit down." I gathered up coffees and the plate of buttered, toasted crumpets that I'd been preparing. As an afterthought I pulled a few squares of kitchen towel from the roll in case of sticky fingers. That was me. Always prepared for any eventuality!

"I'm just going to run and put a T-shirt on," he said and shot off, leaping up the stairs two at a time. I was simultaneously relieved and disappointed by that statement.

On his return, with him now sporting a baggy white T-shirt, we plonked ourselves down on the sofa that had been at the very centre of last night's drama. I waved the plate of crumpets at him.

"Share these with me. I think this is my entire daily allowance of calories right here."

He took one and I tossed a piece of kitchen paper at him.

"So ..." I prompted, "you mentioned something about an apology?"

"Yes, Kate. I really am sorry about last night. I behaved like an idiot and I shouldn't have put you in that position. I'm sorry for embarrassing you ... and myself ... and Jenny."

I was quite taken aback and for a moment didn't know what to say. I didn't want to forgive him so easily, but he had apologised, and what happened ... happened. What else could I really expect from him?

He took a massive bite of the crumpet and I watched as some butter ran down his chin. I wasn't joking about the massive calorie count! He mopped at his face with the kitchen paper and then tucked it into the neck of his T-shirt like a bib, and carried on eating.

The difference between the way he looked now and the way he had looked last night was remarkable. Last night, sprawled on my sofa, overflowing with self-confidence and testosterone he could have been some kind of rippling Roman God. This morning he looked like a little boy.

"I just don't know why I keep doing it," he said. "I couldn't even tell you what the girl from last night's name was. How terrible is that? I didn't even particularly like her."