The Lie(62)

And to be honest, it makes it all that much more real. Sometimes it still feels like a dream and I have to pinch myself during class when my mind starts to wander. My classes are getting harder to concentrate on and my thesis is totally out the window because my brain just wants to focus on him and my body craves his touch no differently than it craves the air I breathe.

On Friday he texts me during class and tells me to come over at three, that he’s whisking me away somewhere for a few hours. There’s barely enough time to rush home and slip on my new bra and underwear, even though the elastic band of my hiphuggers dig into my skin too much, causing a muffin top. I sigh, making a note to start working out more, then the other part of my brain kicks into gear and tells me not to worry about it. If Brigs doesn’t care, neither should I.

Luckily Melissa isn’t home to bug me about where I’m going, so I’m in and out of the flat in a dash and hoping on the train to Brigs’ flat.

I buzz the intercom and Brigs tells me to stay put, that he’ll be right down.

I wait by the entrance to his building, my eyes drawn to the tourists lining up to get into the Sherlock Holmes Museum. Then his front door swings open and he comes out with Winter on a leash, the pooch’s coat looking sparkling white in the autumn sunshine.

Brigs grins at me, eyes bluer than the sky, looking positively dashing in his dark jeans, T-shirt and charcoal waxed cotton jacket. A grey scarf sits around his neck. “There’s my woman,” he says to me, kissing me quickly. Winter, as usual, shoves his nose into my crotch. Like father like son.

“Are we going for a walk?” I ask happily, feeling so much lighter, brighter, when he’s around.

“Going for a drive,” he says, slipping on aviator shades. “I even have a cigar. Do you have a light?”

I quickly pull one out of my purse and wave it at him. “Of course I do. Just in case Professor Blue Eyes wants to smoke a cigar with me.”

He gives me a wolfish smile. “And what if Professor Blue Eyes wants to f*ck you silly?”

I raise my finger to make him pause and then bring out a stack of condoms. “He can f*ck me silly as many times as he wants.”

“Thatta girl,” he says and we round the corner of the building to the back where his Aston Martin is parked.

“I can’t believe you still have it,” I say, running my hand over the black hood, the finish like new even though it was made in 1978.

“Call me sentimental,” he explains, unlocking my side and flipping down the seat so Winter can hop in the back. “I rarely use it anymore but I thought it might be nice to go for a spin.”

I totally agree. I get in and we’re off, zipping through the city and then onto the motorway, heading in who knows what direction. I don’t really care where we’re going and I don’t ask. The radio plays the oldies, some good old soul, and I’ve got the wind in my hair. The weather is absolutely perfect for a drive and though the air has a chill these days, the sun has never felt better on my face.

“So how is our date going so far?” Brigs asks randomly as he brings the car onto the A2.

“Date?” I ask, glancing at him.

He shrugs and shoots me his trademark grin. “Well, I thought we ought to make it official don’t you? None of this screwing here and there, even though that’s a given at this point. I mean, well, sorry to sound old fashioned but I’m rather fond of you and I’d like us to be, you know…a couple.”

“A couple?” I repeat. Silly me kind of thought we already were.

“Aye. I want to do things properly with you now,” he explains. “I’m going to woo the hell out of you.”

I laugh. “Believe me, you’re already wooing the hell out of me.”

“Good, good,” he says, nodding. He glances at me. “But you know, you’re something close to magic, Natasha. I’m not going to treat you like you’re anything less. You deserve to be wooed and wined and dined.”

“And f*cked,” I add, feeling a bit embarrassed at his proclamations. I don’t think I’ve ever been called magic before.

“And f*cked, of course,” he concedes.

And loved I add in my head but my mouth doesn’t dare mutter the words. It’s much too soon for that, even though the longer I’m with him, the more that I’m sucked into this heady vortex of feelings I can barely describe. It’s not that I believe I deserve his love but, god damn it, I want it more than anything.

“Well, Professor Brigs,” I tell him. “Feel free to wine and dine me and do whatever you want. I’m game for whatever you have planned.”

And then what? The thought floats into my head. Where is this going?

But the thing is, there’s only one place for it to go. We’re starting from square one and we might be “dating” but as far as I can tell, we’re already “all in.”

A couple of hours later, we end up near the seaside town of Broadstairs before we’re pulling into a parking lot at a place called Botany Bay.

“Ever been here before?” Brigs asks me as I stare out the window at the wide stretch of sandy beach beyond a row of sea grass.

“Never,” I tell him. “I barely made it to the seaside. Only Brighton.”

“I haven’t been here either,” he says. “I honestly did one of those point at the map things at home. Well, then I googled the hell out it. But I thought that might make it fun.”