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“You do; soppy, romantic thing. It’s up on the college website. It’s awesome, totally awesome, but you need to go look at the comments. There’s like a million. I left one,” he said as if bestowing a gift.
“I think I’ll give it a miss, thanks, Will.”
“Our Phi is somewhat resistant to looking at things on the internet,” said Justin rather loudly. “Even when they are pointed out as essential reading. I, on the other hand, read avidly.” I overheard him enquiring as to whether there were any comments about him on the website as the two of them walked away down the corridor.
Aleks shut the door. Doom was upon me.
His face was appropriately sombre. “Have dinner with me.”
I stared stupidly. He stared back. I looked at the mirror, but it had little to add, other than to draw attention to the incongruity of the words and the characters.
“Yesterday was good, no?” said Aleks. “You say is nice. I am much enjoying your company and am thinking, it is how two people connect that is important. Age, it is not mattering. This is what I feel.”
Even his mouth moved beautifully. It was hypnotic. I very much wanted it to touch mine again.
“Just one dinner,” he continued. “If you are not liking, is fine, is your choice. And you can always climb out the bathroom window if it is really bad.”
That made me smile.
“You will come?”
I nodded and was at once immersed in the golden light of his smile.
“I pick you up at eight?”
I gave another nod.
He laid his hand on his chest which I knew was warm. The veins on his hand extended up his arm, pulsing with life and strength. “I feel much, Amalphia.”
“So do I.” This was an understatement of huge proportion. An abbreviated list: the throb of his pulse under my fingers as he took my hand, the cling of my leotard and tights; the need to kiss him might have even been fulfilled had the door not burst open.
“Amalphia Treadwell! Don’t you have another class to get to?” For a woman dressed in a neon-pink jumpsuit and wearing boxy platform shoes, Madame Genevieve certainly moved with stealth.
The sensual euphoria of the day was gone by seven-thirty. Justin contributed to its demise. He wouldn’t let me wear my strappy dress, declaring it too sexy.
“But I want to look sexy.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. It’ll give him the wrong idea.”
“It’s not the wrong idea. I really like him.”
“Just because he buys you dinner, doesn’t mean you have to sleep with him.”
“I know.”
“Look, Phi. Oh, I don’t know. I’m so conflicted. I suppose the best scenario is one that’s over quickly. Shag him tonight, and it’ll all be finished with tomorrow before anyone gets hurt. Worst case: it goes on a bit, and then you don’t just get hurt, you get squished. Don’t give him that power, sweetheart.”
We compromised on a skirt and top.
“It’s perfect,” declared Justin. “It says: ‘I have lovely tits but am not showing them to you.’ And the skirt is very, ‘My, don’t I have nice legs, but I am fully capable of keeping my knickers on and returning to Justin in a chaste condition before midnight.’ No,” he said to delicate heels. “Wear your lace-up boots, nothing quick to kick off. Are we thinking make-up?”
“No.”
“Good, no changing yourself for him. That’s good.”
“But can you do my hair in that roll thing that doesn’t need hairspray?”
His eyes narrowed, but he obliged. “Rethink the stockings, no need for them. Haven’t you got some thick woolly tights? I should have knitted you some. Or, you know, learned to knit.”
