‘Sure.’
‘What about you then?’ I ask. ‘What’s your type?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ I say, my tummy suddenly going all funny. ‘I’m not a fucking mind reader. I mean you said the other day that if you couldn’t have the woman you loved you’d settle for the one who loved you. Do you really think that?’
‘Not any more, no.’
‘So who is she then, this mysterious woman?’ ‘ Cos, let’s face it, I’m jealous as hell of her. ‘Come on, Sam,’ I urge him. ‘Spill the beans. Who’s your chunky Kit Kat? Did you meet her at work?’
‘You might be surprised,’ he says. ‘You see, I want someone who’ll make me laugh too. Someone I can take out to dinner. Who’ll eat something really lardy smothered in butter and not care that it might make her fat. And she’ll still order chocolate mousse afterwards. With extra cream.’
‘You’ve never been out with anyone like that in your life,’ I say in amazement. There’s a funny, butterflyish feeling in my tummy which is steadfastly refusing to budge. I mustn’t make too much of it. I mean, there’s definitely anticipation, but it seems that Sam has met his ideal woman already. So this feeling I’ve got is probably just because Sam and I have never properly talked like this before. OK, so there’ve been times when we’ve touched on serious subjects, but never like this.
It feels as though we’ve crossed a line.
‘Perhaps that’s because no one like that has ever wanted to go out with me.’
Is it my imagination, or is he a bit closer to me than he was before?
And why is my heart thumping like a fat girl on a trampo-line again?
More to the point, why are my nether regions playing up like there’s no tomorrow.
Sam would probably laugh the end of his willy off if he knew how I was feeling.
Or would he?
Suddenly, almost imperceptibly, he moves closer to me until we’re actually touching. Then he strokes a stray curl off my cheek.
‘Do I have to spell it out?’ he asks, as a nervous, fizzy sort of pain shoots from the tip of my toes to the top of my ponytail, taking in my minky in a big way on the way up. What the hell’s going on?
‘What?’ I ask nervously.
‘I ate the orange one, Katie,’ he says. ‘Isn’t that enough for you?’
‘The orange what?’
‘The orange Revel.’ He puts a finger under my chin and turns my head so I’m facing him. We’re so close I can smell him. He smells of last night’s beer and strawberries and outside. Delicious. For a moment, it reminds me of being a teenager again.
‘I always eat your orange Revels, Simpson. I have done since we were six.’
‘So?’
Shit.
Why is my heart refusing to beat normally?
‘You, you dizzy mare,’ he says gently, pulling me towards him until my mouth is nearly on his. ‘You’re my type.’
There’s something incredibly, wildly exciting about kissing someone you know really well. And when we’ve finished, we’re both incredibly bashful. And this isn’t like the time at Poppy’s wedding, when we both tried to brush what had happened under the carpet. I mean, I was confused then. I didn’t know what I wanted.
Now I do.
And it’s Sam.
Chapter 22
For the rest of the morning, I can hardly look at Sam.
It’s a bit like when you’ve had one of those freakish dreams. You know, the kind where you’re having sex with someone you know really well in real life.
In real life, of course, you don’t fancy them at all. But when you wake up after dreaming about them you’re confused. Somehow, this person you see every day in normal situations, at work, at the bus stop, serving your Caffe Americano in Star-bucks, gets mixed up with the person who was rutting you senseless from behind last night.
Then, just for a day or two, you really start to find them attractive. Being near them makes you nervous. And you find you can’t look them in the eye.
Janice had a dream like that once about one of our lecturers. In real life, he smelled of stale Cheddar and had hairy nostrils and a flobbery blue mole on his chin. But that didn’t stop her from shaking so much when he came over to help with an experiment that she set her fringe alight with the Bunsen burner.
And the fact that Sam and I kissed this morning almost seems like a dream. And it’s so surreal, I can’t help feeling all sort of Rice Krispyish and squirmy inside.
But I can’t deny that, every time he looks at me, there’s a connection that wasn’t there before. It’s a whole new facet to our friendship I never, until recently, knew was there. I think it’s taken us both somewhat by surprise.